Assassin's Creed III: Arise
by SimonFolly
Summary: Amelia Brightmore, the daughter of a Loyalist, watches as her world is turned upside down by the revolution she stands proud to defend alongside her brother and her new friend Connor Kenway. Set through the years of 1775 to 1783, Amelia faces betrayal, death, bravery, corruption, and love through the 8 years of the revolution. ConnorXOC - Picture Credit to William Wu
1. To Ms Brightmore - February 24 1775

**So I realized this probably will need a little explaining... Since this fiction does take place over a period of 8 years, there are large amounts of time that needed to be filled between events in the game. Because of this, the time is filled with events of my own creation and letters that Amelia exchanges with other characters in the story that hint at future events and explain ones of the past. These letters aren't just filler though, as they will contain major plot progressions and explain more in depth what Amelia and other characters are feeling. I just wanted to clarify should it ever get confusing... All letters will have dates as the title and will include who they are from and who is receiving them. Actual chapters will have titles. Alright, that's it! Hope you enjoy!**

To Ms. Helena Marie Brightmore in regards of Amelia Ann Brightmore II

from the Redgrave Academy for Young Women

The Twenty-First of February, 1775

Dear Ms. Brightmore,

It is with sincere apologies that I must write to inform you that your daughter, Miss Amelia Brightmore II, will no longer be able to attend the Redgrave Academy for Young Women effective immediately. As headmistress of this institution, I know I need not inform you of your daughters other grievances that have occurred prior, of which I am sure you already know in my previous letters, but I must inform you of the delicate situation that has arose that calls for Amelia's immediate release. Please, find comfort in knowing that beyond the halls of Redgrave and the New York militia no other persons are aware of the knowledge that I am about to share with you, and however noble and brave your daughter's actions were, they are in no way suitable for a woman and shrouded in a prideful and greedy nature, one that I cannot let pollute the name of this academy.

On the Fourteenth of February in this year of Seventeen-Seventy-Five, a small group of women, whose names beyond those required will not be mentioned, left the academy's grounds at approximately seven o'clock in the evening, in direct violation of academy rules, and made the 25 kilometer journey into New York City for a night of scandal and indulgence in sinful and greedy actions. Due to Amelia's history, having this been the fourth time that she has been caught off Redgrave grounds, it should come as no surprise that she was the leader behind the escapade. Her actions lead the group into dangerous situations, many of which I will not mention here, but in complete disregard for her friends safety and social grace, Amelia and the others consumed large amounts of alcohol. Amelia has confessed that they received the alcohol from male "friends" that were in the area, but I fear to think of the actions that she and the others must have used to obtain it. It was in their drunken state that Amelia's actions lead for one young woman, her close friend Miss Lillian Fawcett, to be attacked by a man as they returned to their horses to come back to the academy for the evening. Both Amelia and Miss Fawcett refuse to speak of the event, but from what little information that I have been able to obtain, I have come to learn that Amelia came to the defense of Miss Fawcett and attacked the man, leaving him severely injured until the militia arrived and took all three into custody. Had it not been for the other three young women, who promptly notified me the moment they arrived back on Redgrave grounds, escorted by two of the King's militia, they both would have spent the night in prison.

The events of the fourteenth have not gone unpunished, but it has been a blessing from God himself that this event has not spoiled the reputations of the women involved. Rumors abound, no doubt, but I would rather live in the peace of other people's speculations than them knowing the actual truth. You may think, Ms. Brightmore, that this is unfair, but in this case, the rumors are much more innocent than the actual events that occurred that night. Be thankful that your daughter has the grace enough to hold her tongue on such delicate matters.

These events have cost the academy an indecent fortune, which was paid to the man whom Amelia attacked to keep him from pressing charges against her. Even still, the rumors that follow your daughter do not shed a kind light on the other students and the academy as a whole. I will not have the young women in my care leave and be announced into society where they are associated with a young woman of indecent character and loose morals. I have done everything in my power to help Amelia understand her role in society and the need for her compliance, but there is no more that I can do. I hope you will forgive the sudden misfortune and find the forgiveness that I am sorely lacking to extend to your daughter.

Amelia is to hand deliver this letter to you, as part of her final punishment, so she may know the weight of the events that have passed. She will not be accepted back into Redgrave Academy.

Respectfully,

Miss Esther Baker, Headmistress of Redgrave Academy for Young Women


	2. Welcome Back - April 1775 - Part I

April 18th 1775

The city was always a foreign world to me; one that had always been a cause for curiosity and awe.

New York, although similar in size to my Boston, was an entirely different place. I had spent three years of my life living just out of reach of the of it, spending only a small amount of time in the city on very rare occasions. Now, thrust back into the daily life of a world I hardly remembered, I was caught in awe every time I emerged from my home on the frontier.

Boston was unlike any other, and even though I loved the life that came with New York, Boston was my home. I had been born here, before my family's moved beyond the city, but I believed that I had never truly left. The sights, the smells, the atmosphere; it was the capital of new innovations and ideas. I knew I had no place here, having grown up on the frontier, but I would be dammed before anyone tried to remove me from it.

It was mid morning, a slight chill in the April air as I walked at slow pace down the streets near the docks, enjoying the chatter of merchants and the people who lived there. I pulled my shawl tighter over my shoulders, listening to the gossip as I passed. It was my favorite thing to listen to, along with the rumors that people exchanged in return. I could listen for hours and learn so much about people I had never met based only on the ideas that surrounded them. Shallow, in some ways, but every lie was attached to some truth. On occasion, I would hear my name too, but that was rarer now. I had been home for almost two months and my arrival had caused quite a stir among the general population, but I didn't really mind. Mother refused to let me go into the city for three weeks for fear of my presence causing any more rumors to spread, but I didn't care. I was no stranger to gossip and I liked to live by my Grandfather's wisdom, "It was better to live a life that others talked about than to talk about the lives of those who you wanted to live."

People in this city didn't remember me anyway. I was very young when I left, barely the age of fourteen, and I had returned a woman. Maybe not in manners, but definitely in appearance. I had finally grown to fit my features; my high cheek bones no longer looked out of place, but delicate, and once my smile was too big for my face, but now it was just the right complement to my warm complexion. My long light brown hair had changed from flat to sun kissed and framed my heart shaped face which complemented my almond shaped hazel eyes, something that I inherited from my father. People who I had known before I left for Redgrave Academy didn't recognize me on my return, something for which I was thankful. Now if people talked about me it was because they noticed that I wasn't wearing a petticoat underneath my dress, or that I left my hair down and my head uncovered wherever I went. These things were trivial and they could talk all they want.

I stopped a moment in my leisurely walk to inspect a few of the fruits that were on display at a stand that I had passed by before. I had a list of goods that my mother needed my brother and I to retrieve for our home and while he was away conducting business, I wandered, looking for miscellaneous things that I could bring back. I put a few in my bag, paying the man, and then continued my walk.

"Find anything worthwhile?"

I turned, my best friend Lillian Fawcett strolled beside me, linking her arm with mine as we left the market area. I smiled, "Just some apples. They seemed quality for being out of season." Lillian sighed, throwing a look over her shoulder to the fruit stand. "I wish I hadn't left my purse at the Inn. I can only imagine what they taste like." I reached into my bag and lightly tossed one towards her. "Here" I said, "Consider it payment for letting me stay at your home tonight." Lillian smiled, taking a small bite from the apple. "You have my thanks." We continued walking, heading through the residential areas. Curious glances fell our way, not surprising seeing as we were two young women without an escort, but no one felt the need to tell us of our error. Stares came from other reasons as well; Lillian was a beauty of our gender. She was short for her age, or rather, I was tall for mine. Lil stood at a perfect height of 5'5'' while I was a giant at 5'9''. She was perfect in more than just height though; her long and curly dark brown hair was always perfectly tucked into her cap with just a few strands to frame her porcelain face and deep blue eyes. Compared to me, she was soft with the same beautiful curves you found in art, a status of her wealth, while my work on the homestead had made me lean and athletic. I had always been jealous of her curves and her natural beauty, of the woman she always seemed to be, and her grace and confidence within her own skin. As where I was , more self-conscious over my lack of "feminine charms" as my mother called them. She feared that I would stay lost in this "boyish" body forever.

"Where's John?" Lillian asked as we cut through an alley, still munching on her apple. I shrugged, casting a glance over my shoulder. "He was last dealing with the man at the general goods store near the docks when we left." We emerged onto a different street, passing a small grouping of militia who grew silent and turned their eyes to us as we passed. I held Lillian a little tighter as we walked, she too growing quite. Lillian knew she was beautiful, she always had, but she cursed herself for it now, and it was my biggest regret because I knew it was my fault. She was not injured that night, my interference stopping things from escalating, but the emotional damage ran deep and had done its damage. It would be a long time before the stares of men were comfortable for Lillian again.

Tensions were already high with the British though, and I knew that these military men wouldn't be so brave to make an advance towards us, not without the threat of starting yet another riot should their advances be denied. It was strange to think of how little I actually knew regarding the colonies and the growing tension with England while I was at Redgrave Academy, but the Headmistress kept a close eye on what information was given to us, and news of a possible political uprising was definitely something to keep hushed seeing as it was not "something that agreeable young women needed to know of..." What little I did know I learned from my brother, John, who was passionate for seeing the British leave the colonies. The Boston Massacre, the Tea Party... All events that my brother was ready to defended or argue against in the name of liberty, and even though I agreed with him about the British, I still worried for his safety. Revolution was a dangerous word, but from all that I heard that morning, it was all anyone could speak of.

Lillian and I stayed close together, talking little as we passed through larger crowds, searching for John as we did so. Eventually, the morning began to pass into the afternoon, so we decided to give up and head back to the inn where we were staying. If anything, John was already waiting for us there.

I lead Lillian down a different alley, away from curious eyes and raging voices. It was a moment of peace for the two of us to be alone and we enjoyed every moment. It was rare for us to find time together, let alone time away from anyone else. By the time we reached the outer edges of Boston, we were laughing so hard that we were drawing stares from people we passed. We quieted down as we approached the inn, the Sleeping Huntsman, and I pushed the door open.

We were greeted by roars of laughter and the heated debates of men. The smell of alcohol was almost as powerful as the smell of sweat, but it was nothing that I wasn't used to. Lillian on the other hand crinkled her nose at the smell. I laughed at her expression. "A little different than your home in Concord, isn't it?" I asked. Lillian nodded, breathing through her mouth. "Very..." she replied, following me towards the back where a table sat near an open window. I set my bag down while Lillian walked up to the bar tender to ask for her purse, and then joined me.

"I'm glad that we'll be staying at my home tonight." She said, scanning the room I assumed looking for my brother. "I wish John would hurry back, then that way he could take the wagon and we could be on our way." I nodded, rummaging through my bag for another apple. "I'm sure whatever he's doing is important." I said. "Though I wish he would tell me when he's going to disappear."

John had been acting strange since I had come home, always leaving at bizarre hours in the night or the early morning and not returning until the late evening, and at times he would not return for a day or two. At first, I assumed he was courting someone, but I soon discovered that he was helping run weapons and supplies to men who were forming a small military resistance for the colonies. Our mother, although she did not know the extent of John's involvement, did not approve. Her loyalties lied with England, where she was born and raised, but I supported John in his endeavors and helped him when possible. Even though I was the only one out of my family to be born on Colonial soil, John couldn't even walk when our parents travelled from England to settle here, and so this land was just as much his birth place as my own. I wondered if that was what detained my brother for so long; another shipment of supplies or planning the movement of militia. Something was stirring, but I didn't know what.

I was interrupted from my thoughts by one of the innkeepers, a round woman with a small little bun on the top of her head. She approached the table and thrust a folded piece of paper towards me.

"Letter for your husband." She said.

I took letter, frowning at her. "Brother." I corrected.

She snorted, not caring, and walked away.

Lillian pulled her chair a little closer as I examined the paper. It was important, I could tell that much, as it was sealed with wax and was rather thick. An unfamiliar crest sat in the center of the seal: thirteen stars encircling a simple Latin phrase with two swords crossed behind it. It was addressed to John in a simple script that seemed strangely familiar with an urgent note that read, _Come as quickly as you can_.

"Who is it from?" Lillian asked, peering over my arm. I quickly covered the seal and the message, flashing her a false smile. I had the sudden urge to read the letter, and the opportunity could not have been better. Every hard piece of information that John received he destroyed not long after, whether by command or by his own personal idea I knew not. I wasn't going to let this rare chance pass to really have an idea of what was happening, I only had to leave Lillian alone.

"Not sure," I said, coming up with a quick lie. "But it seems pretty important. It's probably from Guy or Andrew... You know? Because they can afford wax sealant. I think I'll go see if I can find John again." Lillian frowned, confused. "Oh, well, do you want me to come with you?" She said, rising from her seat. "No..." I said, motioning for her to stay . "I'll be back in an hour or so. Just...just stay here and order something to eat, or rent a room and take a nap or something. I'll be back soon."

I left her sitting at the table alone as I rushed out of the inn. My curiosity was getting the better of me, and even though I had no idea what the letter was about, I figured it was best if Lillian wasn't around to find out. I was going to find John, I didn't lie about that, but I wasn't going to pass up this opportunity to read something that may or may not be about John's work. I didn't recognize the seal, but the handwriting I did after looking at it more closely. I had seen it before on the letters that were addressed to my father, but for the life of me I couldn't remember who had sent them. After my father's death, my mother cut off all ties with my father's friends, many of whom supported resistance against the British, but I was too young to remember who they were. John, though, might have somehow reconnected with them.

I shivered slightly as I walked back into town, having left my shawl on the back of my chair at the inn. I could open the letter without breaking the seal, a trick that I had actually learned from John himself, so I could read the letter and then reattach it with a little heat to re-melt the wax, but first I needed a knife. I passed by a small group of soldiers, the thought of asking them for a knife crossed my mind but I worried that they would recognize the seal or read over my shoulder. I continued walking, disappointed.

I wandered deeper into the city, dark clouds began to loom over head, my only warning of the time that had passed. Eventually, I gave up on looking for a knife and figured I would try my luck with just my fingers. I rounded the corner of a nearby alley that opened up into a small dirt courtyard with a well and a tree. A bench sat alongside one of the buildings and I took a seat, pulling the letter out of my pocket.

I turned it over a few times, trying to jog my memory, but it didn't work. I let out a small frustrated sigh and set the letter down on my knee, the bright red seal staring up at me. I careful picked away at the wax holding onto the paper, careful not to break off any peices. If I could keep it as clean as possible, John would never notice the difference when I re-sealed it. After a tedious fifteen minutes, I managed to get half of the seal off the paper. Excited, I pulled a little harder than necessary and a slight tear appeared next to the seal. I cursed under my breath, moving slowly again. Somewhere in the distance, I heard bells ringing, a signal to the British militia to be on the lookout. I swallowed, thinking of John, and moved a little faster. After another fifteen minutes, the seal released the paper with only minimal damage and I carefully unfolded the set of letters.

John,

It was such a pleasure to meet you last week at the Banquets Ball. I wish that we could have spent more time together discussing your ideas for planting this summer, but I was otherwise engaged and had to cut our conversation short. Please note though, that I hold you and your knowledge of agriculture in high regards and look forward to meeting you again. If you are available, I will be in King's Country from...

I groaned, leaning back against the side of the building. The letter was encrypted, as I should have guessed it would be, and I was in no mood to try and decipher it. A signature was absent from the letter as well, a precaution that I hadn't thought would be taken. Still, I could pick up on a few of hidden messages inside of it and I couldn't hide the excitement that came from knowing that whatever was inside this letter was extremely important. "King's Country" was Boston, I knew that much, along with other terms such as "agriculture" which I believed was military strategy. If John wasn't careful, he would sometimes say the terms in everyday conversation, and by the time he realized he let one slip, I had already guessed what they meant. I looked over the letter again, disappointed. I carefully folded the letter back together and placed it in my pocket. I had to find some way to seal the letter again, so I left the alley and began to make my way back to the inn.


	3. Welcome Back - April 1775 - Part II

Chapter I: Boston - Part II

The sun was making its slow decent from the sky and I walked at quick and deliberate pace, the heavy rain clouds making it darker than usual. If I didn't hurry, Lillian and I would be making the hour long trip back to her home in the dark and completely wet. The bells I had heard earlier had stopped ringing, but British militia had begun to make their patrols for the evening, and I wondered who the poor soul was that they were looking for. I wandered for a while, making my way back to the docks that I had been to earlier in the day to get a sense of direction. Once there, I avoided the busier streets, not wanting to accidently run into John with his letter still unsealed. I took back alleys and cut through deserted courtyards, only passing through crowded areas when necessary, but eventually my alleys ran out and I thrust back out into everyday society. I walked a little ways with the crowds, checking every so often to make sure the letter was still in my pocket. Everything was going smoothly, until I saw John.

John was leaving a building just ahead of me, followed by three others who followed close behind. I didn't recognize the others, but I had no doubt that one was John; I recognized his over confident walk and the way his messy light brown hair fell over his ears. If that wasn't enough to convince me, I heard his name as he shook the hand of a man who stood in the doorway.

I froze, unsure of what to do. I knew that I didn't have to say anything about the letter if he saw me, but I knew if we arrived back at the inn together, Lillian would ask him about it, and then I would have some explaining to do. Even though my brother and I weren't ones to kept secrets from each other, I knew that this was a different matter.

I spun on my heel and headed back in the direction I came, holding my skirts as I walked at a hurried pace. I had to beat John back to the inn, but something slowed me. I turned around, just in time to see John and the others descend the small steps of the building, throwing a quick glance over their shoulders, and then head away down the street. I paused, this not catching my attention, but the men who were watching them. A small group of British militia moved out from the shadows of a nearby alley and followed behind my brother and his group of friends. They must have known this, because my brother and his friends, walking at a normal pace as the guards approached, suddenly took off at a sprint, catching the guards unawares, who quickly followed suit.

I cursed, pulling up my skirts and ran into a nearby alley. Whatever he was doing was not worth his getting thrown in jail, and I needed some way to help him. I followed the shouts down other alleys, I had come up with a plan, but I had to be careful to make sure that I would appear only just ahead of the guards, or it would do nothing. If John was caught, I knew there was not anything I could do to help him. He most likely would be considered a traitor, especially if the soldiers knew he was working for the rebels. I knew that John and the others could easily outrun the soldiers, but it didn't hurt to give them a little help.

I paused just outside of an opening as I watched John and the others sprint past. I was a little ahead, but what I needed now was something to slow down their followers. I ran down another alley, only guessing that John and the others would come down the street that it lead to. I cut through a crowd of people, watching as John and his friends rounded the corner, quickly heading in my direction. A man was unloading a cart in the center of the street, carrying what looked to be boxes of taxed tea into a nearby general store. I took my chance and quickly climbed into the cart, thankful that the people around me were preoccupied by the commotion quickly heading their way. I crouched down as John and his friends neared, the soldiers close behind, pretending to help unload.

"Move! Move!" I heard John shout as he and the others pushed through a crowd of people. I stood, waiting as the soldiers approached, and then I threw my shoulder into the stack of boxes as they passed, sending them and myself cascading down on top of them. I fell to the ground hard, having seriously underestimated my own strength, and I groaned as I pushed myself upright, bits of broken boxes and tea falling from the folds of my dress. I dared a quick look in my brother's direction, pleased to see that they continued running and disappeared around another corner, not even a look behind them. One of the soldiers escaped my trap though and after much deliberation, gave up on the pursuit of my brother to turn his attention to me and his fallen comrades.

I scrambled to my feet as two other guards pushed themselves upright, the one who had survived shouting orders to go after me instead. Damning modesty, I pulled up my skirts and ran.

I flew through the streets, jumping over obstacles and pushing through crowds as I lead the soldiers back into the heart of Boston. My chest burned, and dull ache had started in my shoulder but I kept going, turning down another busy street, only to find the soldiers had spilt and were now sprinting at me from both directions. I slipped into a nearby alley, hearing their shouts as I rounded corners and burst out onto another street. I was hopelessly lost now, but I continued to run. I cast a quick look over my shoulder to see if my pursuers had found me yet, but before I could turn back around, I was pulled into the darkness of another alley by a pair of unfamiliar hands; one hand to cover my scream, the other holding me against the wall by my injured shoulder.

I was too surprised to do anything but stare up at my captor in a strange wide-eyed horror. My mind told me to fight but I was still in shock by how quickly he had grabbed me from the street. I couldn't see his face, hidden by a light shadow that fell across it by the hood that covered his head. The man removed his hand from my shoulder slowly, testing to see if he could trust me not to move, and brought a finger to his lips signaling for me to stay quite. I glared at him, my shock turning to confusion and anger. We stood there for a moment as I heard the soldiers approach, my body growing tense with fear, but they ran past the alley without even a second glance.

The man peered around the corner, making sure that the soldiers continued running away from where we hid, and then turned back me, removing his hand.

"You're welcome." He said.

I stared back at him, breathing heavily. "What?"

The man pulled his hood back, showing his face. He was young, much to my surprise, not more than a few years older than myself. His dark hair was pulled into a low ponytail while his deep brown eyes were matched by the warm color of his skin; too dark to be of an English line, but lighter than a Spaniards... He was a Native, I assumed, guessing also by his strong jaw line and lean build, not to mention the fact that I had to look up into his eyes to speak to him.

The man frowned. "Are you not going to thank me?"

I gaped at him, at a loss for words. "Thank you for what? Pulling me from the street? Scaring me into silence?"

His frown deepened. "They would have caught you. I did only what I thought was right."

It was my turn to frown. "You were following me? For how long?"

He crossed his arms over his chest, watching me. "I saw the soldiers chasing some civilians, so I followed behind. I was going to help, but you were able to assist them before I could."

My breathing was returning to normal but my lungs still protested violently. I tried to read his face for any trace of deception, but I couldn't find any. Still, I was hesitant, the increasing lack of adrenaline was making my thought process slow.

"How do I know you aren't a British soldier?" I asked

He seemed annoyed by this question, throwing his arms to his sides for me to examine.

"Do I look like a British soldier?" He asked hotly.

For the first time, I really looked at him. He was wearing a strange cross between a white robe and a military coat, the edging a simple blue, with a simple pair of trousers and knee high boots, decorated by a red sash. His attire, although strange, was not what caught my attention. He carried all kinds of weapons ranging from the pistol at his side, to the tomahawk next to his hip, and the bow slung across his back. I also noticed on his wrists a clever device containing a sleek and lethal looking blade. He didn't look like a British soldier, but he definitely wasn't a innocent bystander.

I shook my head. "No, you don't. I'm sorry." I said, seeing that the comment had bothered him. "And thank you..." I said at last.

He relaxed his arms, satisfied. "You're welcome." He said again.

I stood then, taking a deep breath. "I need to get going." I said, moving towards the street. My lungs hurt as I breathed and I coughed, bending over. I saw the man take a step closer, his hand raised as if to help, yet unsure of what to do. I stood up quickly, hands on my waist, waving him back. "I'm fine." I said tensely.

"If you leave now, you'll be caught." He said. "How will you run if you can't even breath?"

I leaned against the wall, my eyes closed. I had gotten myself into quite the situation and I didn't want his help, but I knew he was right. I was also lost... The idea of needing a strangers help, and the help of one who I still slightly angry at, annoyed me.

"Will you help me then?" I asked, opening my eyes, a sudden idea forming. With all those weapons on him he must know how to use them. If so, then he was my best chance for returning to the inn safely. "You're right. I can't outrun the guards like this, and I somehow managed to get myself lost."

The man took a step closer. "Help you how?"

I stepped away from the wall, looking into the street. It was getting late and Lillian would be getting worried and I still needed to beat John back to the inn. The patrols would be ending soon, but in this area of the city, the militia would be looking for me.

"Escort me back to a part of the city I'm familiar with, or at least until the soldiers have calmed down..." I said, turning back to him, hopeful. He was quiet a moment and then he let out a small sigh. "Alright." He said. I smiled, taking a step back towards him.

"Thank you, and I'm Amelia, by the way." I said, holding my hand out.

He stared at my hand a moment, and then at me, as if shaking my hand was repulsive.

"Connor." He said, placing his hand in mine.

We didn't shake, just a simple grip, followed by a quick release. Connor was looking at me now, his eyes scanning over my attire. I couldn't fight the heat that rose to my face as he did so; most men wouldn't be so bold.

"What?" I asked, pulling my hair down over my should as he moved past me into the street.

"Your hair. It's too noticeable. You need to cover it."

I frowned, embarrassed at my own thoughts. I didn't have cap with me. I reached into my pocket as Connor waited in the street and I pulled out a light blue ribbon. I quickly braided my hair and let it fall across my shoulder, stubborn strands falling out around my face. Connor said nothing but I could tell it wasn't what he wanted from the frown that now decorated his face. "I don't like hats." I said matter-of-factly, walking past him.

We joined a passing group of people, staying just behind them as we made our way down the street. I was walking quickly, trying to keep up with Connor's stride. He moved with a strange silence, as if hunting, and every step was graceful and matched by a confident speed. A few moments later, Connor pulled his hood back up, covering his face. I was curious, noticing he only did so a patrol moved by on the opposite side if the street. Connor paused, turning to me.

"What?" He asked.

I blushed, not realizing that I had been staring. "Nothing." I said.

Connor raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, never slowing his stride. "Where am I taking you?" He asked, looking forward again.

I coughed again, still embarrassed. "Do you know where The Sleeping Huntsman is?" I asked, doubtful. To my surprise, Connor nodded. "I do. It's about a half hour from here." He paused momentarily to look at me. "Do you have someone there waiting for you?" he asked. It was my turn to nod. "Yes. My friend Lillian and my older brother, John, should be there by now."

We continued to walk, avoiding large areas and moving with the general population. Connor was very good at avoiding attention although his attire did little to let him blend with the crowd. I was impressed as we moved quickly through the streets, and although our conversation was light and sparse, it was natural.

"Your brother was one of the men being chased, wasn't he?" Connor asked suddenly.

I nodded, hesitant if I should continue. "He...helps with the rebels." I said.

"I assumed so." Connor said.

I said nothing and Connor continued.

"You don't support him?" His tone changing to a slightly defensive one.

"What? No!" I said, "I support him. I usually try to help him when I can, but..." I paused, following Connor around another corner. "I worry about him, although I know it won't do any good."

Connor watched me for a moment, saying nothing, but held his arm out as a patrol of soldiers suddenly appeared on the street, stopping me. We turned and slipped into an alley, a normal silence falling between us once again.

"Does your family not support him?" Connor asked after a while. "Is that why you worry?"

I shrugged, unsure how to answer. "Our mother is a Loyalist, while our grandfather refuses to have an opinion. My father died when I ten but I knew he supported a lot of the people in Boston who were angry with the British.; it caused...tension in the family, needless to say."

I didn't say anything more, but I didn't have to. Connor only nodded and we walked in silence. I could feel the sun setting, the chill in the air becoming more and more prevalent. I held my arms as we walked, trying to ignore the cold.

"Is Connor your real name?" I asked, curious.

He looked at me, surprised, but after a moment he shook his head.

"No. My real name is Ratonhnhake':ton."

I smiled, trying to sound it out. "Ra-doon-ha-gay-doon..." I sounded like an idiot.

"Not quite..." Connor said, confirming my fear, but a small smile had appeared on his otherwise serious face. I looked up at him, still curious. "What tribe are you from?" I asked. Connor met my gaze, his face once again sober. "Your people call us the Mohawk."

"How did you get the name Connor?"

"You ask to many questions." He said sharply.

"Oh." I said, dropping the subject. Connor glanced at me briefly, but said nothing. I kept my eyes forward, not meeting his. I was right, and I didn't need his answer to figure out what I had already guessed. One of his parents had been English, explaining why he knew the language and how he had received his name. It was strange, though, because most natives stayed away from the larger cities.

We stayed in silence until the city began to take on a more familiar feeling. Even though I recognized places, Connor had taken me a very different way than I was used to and I didn't feel comfortable enough yet to let him leave, and although the soldiers were more sparse the closer we got to the edge of the city, there was a strange tension in the air, as if everyone was on edge.

"Connor." I said, holding my hand out to stop him after a while. "I know the way from here. You don't need to walk with me anymore..." In all honesty, I had known the way back to the inn almost ten minutes ago, but I didn't want to leave his company. Something about him made me feel safe, although I barely knew him.

"Are you sure?" He asked. I nodded, smiling up at him. "Yes, but I should probably get going. I'm not staying in the city and should probably leave as soon as possible. I don't want to travel in the rain..." I took a small step in the direction I needed to go, still facing him. I was stalling, but I didn't know why.

Connor nodded, lowering his hood. "I too have somewhere to be." He extended his hand this time and I took it, our hand shake not so brief.

"Thank you, Connor." I said, smiling. "Maybe we'll see each other again?"

"Perhaps." He said, and although he gave me the smallest of smiles in return, his eyes told me he didn't think so.

Yeah, neither did I...

I let go first, letting my hand fall slowly to my side. "Well then..." I said. "Goodbye." I bowed slightly and turned away, heading down the street. I let out the breath that I didn't realize I had been holding and straightened my skirts. After a moment, I dared a quick glance over my shoulder, but Connor was nowhere to be found.


	4. And So It Begins - April 1775 - Part I

The woods were a dangerous place to be at night; the threat of wolves or highwaymen making those who traveled the roads either impossibly brave or extremely dim. What was left of the sun was quickly disappearing over the tops of the trees, making not only our horses skittish but the unforgiving chill was now worse without the sun and the cover of the city. Lillian and I rode in silence, each one acutely aware to our surroundings. We had a little over half an hour before we made it back to her home in Concord, and as brave as I as was thought to be, I didn't like the fact that I would be riding without a weapon in the early dark of the night.

I was still slightly bitter with John for not escorting us back to Concord, but he said he had more business to attend to in Boston. This was after I had given him his letter, and I wondered what sort of business he meant to imply. I had returned to the inn safely and was thankful that the dim glow of candles could already be seen from the windows before I walked inside, therefore, my asking for one would not be as strange. The inn was warm and inviting, a fire having been built up no doubt to ready the visitors for the coming onslaught of April rain that had been threatening us all for most of the day. It never came, leaving us instead with a magnificent sunset, but the chill that had followed it had yet to disappear and I was thankful for the comforting warmth. Lillian had taken my advice and rented a room, her charming spirit was nowhere to be found, and neither was John's. I took the rare moment of solitude to close John's letter, sitting at a secluded table and carefully melting the wax without burning the paper. It had barely anytime to cool when the door swung open once again and John stood in the doorframe and I couldn't hide the joy that came from his presence. I slid the letter back into my pocket as I rose and quickly embraced him in a hug. The love I had for my brother was something that few people understood and seeing him again unharmed, if only dirty and tired, caused my heart to swell. I couldn't fight off the small amount of guilt that whispered in my mind about reading his letter, but there was nothing I could do about it now. I hoped, if he noticed, that he wouldn't be angry.

After talking for a moment, I excused myself to go and find Lillian, handing John the letter before I left. At first he seemed confused until he noticed the wax seal. Although his face betrayed no emotion, his eyes lit up with excitement. I walked away then, and if John had noticed my interference, he didn't call me back. I asked for Lillian's room from the same woman with the little bun and quickly ran upstairs to find her. I walked to the end of the hallway and gently knocked on the door. When she didn't answer, I pushed it open to find her fast asleep on the tiny bed, her shoes off and small cap lying next to her on the end table. I smiled and was about to say her name when I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the window.

My fall from the wagon and run through the city had covered me in dust and mud, and although thankful that the boxes only carried tea, the broken boxes had caused dark streaks along on my arms and the sides of my skirt. There was also a slight tear in the hem of my dress from running, having caught it on something. I blushed, my thoughts going back to Connor; compared to his white attire, I must have looked as if I lived in the gutter. A small pitcher of water and bowl sat on a small table at the foot of Lillian's bed and, as quietly as I could, I washed the dirt and tea from my face and hair. I let my damp hair dry as I tried to rinse out my clothing, first my blouse and then my skirt, the tea only spreading further into my clothing than I had hoped. I cursed, but then apologized, as I said a silent prayer of thanks that John hadn't said anything about the way I looked; either he hadn't noticed or he wasn't going to ask me what had happened. I let my hair stay down, hoping that it would cover the small stains of tea in my clothes. Gently shaking Lillian awake, I told her John had returned and together we went downstairs. Lillian went to go pay for the room and I returned to our table to find John lost in thought.

"Are you alright?" I asked, placing my hand on his shoulder.

He blinked, confused, and then smiled up at me. "I'm alright." He said. "Just thinking about all I have to do..." I smiled back at him, but something about the way he said it seemed somber, and I was thankful for Lillian's sudden interruption. The three of us then shared a small meal, knowing we would miss supper before reaching the Fawcett's home, and after we finished we called for our horses. Waiting outside, John helped Lillian and I with our gear, placing some of the merchandise we had bought on my horse. I pulled an apple from my bag and fed it to each horse, apologizing for the added weight.

"John, where's the wagon? Why is it taking so long to get here?" I asked.

John checked on the bridle of my horse, not meeting my eyes. "I sent a message to the general store while you were waking Lillian." He said. "They left a few hours ago with the supplies back to the homestead."

I could feel my brows furrow in confusion. "Why would you do that? How are you getting home then?"

John looked at me then, placing his hand gently on my arm. "I have to stay in Boston for the night, Amelia. I have...other business to attend to." He walked past me towards Lillian's horse, distracting himself with her saddle as I followed him.

"What do you mean, 'other business'?" I asked. "I thought everything was taken care of."

John turned towards me then and gave me a small smile. "Not quite, but almost. I have somewhere I need to be." I frowned, his words echoing Connors. A part of me wondered if their "business" was the same...

I was broken from my memories as my horse pulled suddenly against my grip, the sudden thrash of his head pulling my injured shoulder across my body in a ragged, violent motion. I cried out and released the reins as my horse began to stamp the ground and let out a small set of whinnies. I was thankful that whatever had spooked him hadn't made him start running, but I bit back tears as Lillian quickly dismounted to calm my horse, whispering it's name and pulling its reins tight.

"Amelia, what's wrong with your arm?" Lillian asked, stroking the horse's neck.

I could hear her horse quickly trot away to a nearby felid, fearful of the minor panic that had attacked her friend. I let my arm fall back to my side, snatching my reins from Lillian and feigning ignorance. "What do you mean?" I asked. "And your horse just left you..." I said, trying to change the subject. I could barely see Lil purse her lips in the dark, a tale-tell sign of her annoyance.

"You've been rubbing your shoulder ever so often since we've left Boston. When did you hurt it?"

I stayed silent as Lillian left me to fetch her own horse and climbed back into the saddle; ever proper, she sat side ways while my skirts sat bunched between me. "I was clipped by a wagon while I was looking for John." I lied quickly, before she could ask me again. "Its...been bothering me since I returned to the inn." That part wasn't a lie. The pain hadn't bothered me until I had tried to pull myself into my saddle back in Boston, the pain having been so intense that I basically stumbled back to the ground, where Lillian must have noticed. I hadn't felt much pain after falling from the wagon after attacking the militia, nor when Connor had me pushed against the wall. It wasn't until I had calmed down that the pain really started to rise. I must have fallen much harder than I thought.

Lillian let out a small breath of air, surprised. "Dear Lord, Amelia! Are you alright?" She asked. "Should we stop somewhere to have it bandaged?" I shook my head, touched by her concern. "No," I said, "I don't want to be out in the woods any longer than necessary. I can wait until we reach your home." Lillian nodded but I could tell that she was worried. "Well, at least that explains why your dress is so dirty..." she said and I blushed in the darkness. "Did you fall?" I nodded, thankful for the easy connection. "Yes, I did. I hadn't realized it was so dirty until I was back at the inn."

We rode side by side then, the horses finding peace from the others presence, which made the journey all the more bearable with our limited, but comforting, chatter. My shoulder throbbed steadily now, but I ignored it the best I could, making sure not to rub it more than necessary.

My thoughts trailed again back to John in Boston. His letter was what must have called him to stay an extra day in the city, and I was unsure how to explain John's absence to my mother. I'm sure the poor man from the general store received an earful already and I shuddered at what I'd face when I got home tomorrow afternoon. If John was doing business for the rebels tonight, I hoped he would stay safe. I couldn't describe my sudden need for caution, but even Lillian, who was usually so easy-going, seemed on edge; her normal chatty self having gone silent. Although I could blame it on the darkness, part of me knew that it wasn't just the darkness that bothered us. It had been that way since we had arrived in Boston early that morning and the tension had yet to diffuse; you could feel it in the air, hear it in the whispers of the townspeople, see it in the way the militia held their muskets. Whatever was coming, I doubted it would be settled with civility...

The silence continued all the way until we reached the small town of Lexington, just a few miles east of Concord. I was curious as to what time it was and asked a few young boys who were out playing in the streets, playing hide-and-seek with the cover of darkness, and a few muttered that they didn't know, while others gave a rough guess that it was "just past supper". Lillian and I conferred that it must have been a little later than seven-thirty, maybe close to eight. The sun had set and we were now completely covered in night, but the roads to Lexington had a few men wandering along them, their presence a small comfort to me and although they were civil as we rode past, Lillian kept her head down and followed behind me, not meeting their eyes.

"Odd, isn't it..." I mused, slowing my horse to rejoin her side, "So many men out tonight, many on the less travelled roads too."

"Some are carrying muskets..." Lillian said quietly, meeting my eyes.

I nodded, having noticed back in Lexington. "Strange...maybe their patrolling for highwaymen?"

Lillian shrugged. "It wouldn't be the first time."

We pushed our horses into a small trot then, neither one wanting to admit out uneasiness. Eventually, the area began to become more familiar, even in the darkness. I could hear the water from the nearby river, knowing that if we continued on the main road we would cross the north bridge into Concord. Instead, Lillian took a sharp left along another road that moved gracefully up a shallow hill. At the top, above most of the tree line, sat Lillian's home, the impressive Fawcett Manor.

Wealthy by most standards, Lillian's home was a grand two story building made completely out of timber, painted a regal white offset by dark shutters. Glass windows lined the front, the warm light from within shinning out onto the stone steps and over the small yard in the front, the trees casting dark shadows against the house, giving it an eerie, but noble look.

A young boy suddenly ran out from behind the house, holding his hat as he did so.

"Lil! 'Melia!" He yelled to us through the darkness. Lillian trotted ahead and pulled the horse to a stop, gracefully jumping down from the saddle to wrap her youngest brother in hug.

"Hello Lucas!" She said, kissing him on the cheek. Lucas beamed up at her, excited to see us.

I smiled, the bond between Lillian and Lucas reminding me of John and I's bond; the same love and admiration from the younger matched by the elders devotion and care, and I suddenly wished that John was by my side. Lucas quickly noticed the absence as well, bright for a young boy of six, and promptly asked where his favorite playmate was.

"John is still in Boston, Lucas." I said, stepping down from my saddle. "He won't be joining us tonight."

Even in the low light of the house I could see the child's face fall in disappointment, so I quickly rummaged through my bag and tossed my last apple at him. He caught it and looked up at me, excitement taking its rightful place once again. "John wanted you to have it." I said, guiding my horse over to them. Lucas smiled at me but before he could take a bite, Lillian placed her hand over his.

"Go have mother cut this for you. You'll hurt your teeth." The boy, in a sudden fit or rebellion, stuck his tongue out at her and ran away.

"And tell her we're home!" Lillian called after him. I laughed as Lucas called back with a defiant, "NO!" and disappeared around the corner, his hat threatening to fall off his head. We walked our horses back to the stables where Lillian's house servant, Jacob, came to meet us. He was a wonderful old man, his frizzy white hair always sticking up in random directions with a fiery personality to match. He had been with the Fawcett's since Lillian's birth and was like grandfather to the entire household, his wisdom and knowledge helping lead the family to prosperity for over thirty years.

"Had you two ladies travelled any slower, they would have sent me after you to find ya!" He complained, taking the reins from Lillian.

"Jacob, if you would have come to find us, we would have only ended up lost." She teased. The old man feigned insult and we laughed. "Now you two don't even know what you are saying! This body of mine may be old, but I have a sense of direction like a.. like a...uh..." He gave up trying to compare himself and we laughed lightly, but Jacob wouldn't let us claim victory. "Ah well, you girls know what I mean. Just get yourselves inside. Your mother's been awfully worried Miss Lil."

Lillian gave Jacob a quick hug, thanked him, and turned to head inside. I stayed behind, pulling down my items from my saddle, trying to ignore the ache in my shoulder. Jacob placed his old, callused hands over mine and shook his head. "Don't you worry about these, Miss Amelia, I'll get them to Lillian's room." I smiled and also gave him a hug. "Thank you, Jacob." I said and turned to head inside.

I walked up the back steps stone steps and pushed open the door to the kitchen, but no one was there aside from Jacob's wife Esther, the petite woman the only true match for Jacob's wit, but was definitely the softer of the two . She was beautiful, even in her years, and smiled warmly at me as I entered.

"Ah! Miss 'Melia, I was wonder'n when you'd come through my door!"

She stopped cooking only for a moment to wrap me in a warm hug and then push me swiftly out towards another doorway where I could hear Lillian's family talking, slipping a fresh roll into my hand.

"Just made a batch for this soup so you girls don't go to bed cold and hungry." She winked. "I'll holla' when it's ready." I thanked her, taking a bite, and went out to find the family.

I was suddenly attacked by the third of the Fawcett children, young Mr. Simon, who at the young age of eight already stood as tall as my hip bone. "Amelia! I'm so glad your home!" He cried into my skirts. I bent down and gave him a hug, knowing I wouldn't be able to lift him like I usually did, and placed what was left of my roll into his hands. "Don't tell your mother." I whispered, for just then Mrs. Fawcett turned her attentions to me.

"Amelia! There's my other daughter!"

This was just one of the few reasons why I loved this family. Lillian and I had been friends since our first meeting at Redgrave and had been inseparable ever since. Her family was just as accepting , her parents having treated me like their own child since then. Even after I had caused Lillian expulsion from the academy, my mother made me give a formal apology to the Fawcett's for the trouble and danger that I had placed Lillian in. Instead of casting me out, I was met with grace and forgiveness, the family instead thanking me for rescuing Lillian from the very situation I had gotten her into. Even though Mr. and Mrs. Fawcett could sometimes be taken aback by my outspoken nature and unusual tomboy actions, they never stopped to pour out their love to me.

More often than not, their home was more welcoming than my own.

I was wrapped in hug by both Mr. and Mrs. Fawcett, each one expressing their happiness to see us both home safely. Mrs. Fawcett, by most standards, was more than curvy, but still as graceful and elegant as any wealthy family that she knew, while Mr. Fawcett was shorter and much skinner; the easiest way to describe him would simply be to say he was...scholarly. In many ways, he remind me of my older brother Thomas who was studying in London, with the same fine facial features, but a slight receding hair line. No doubt, Simon and Lucas both took after their father.

After a brief exchange of hello's and questions of our trip, we were interrupted by Esther who came to tell us that the soup was ready and brought Lillian and I each a bowl. Disregarding formality for an evening, we sat by the fire in the drawing room and ate while we recounted our trip to Boston, the boys being the most interested listeners. Mr. Fawcett was particularly interested in the news of the rebels and I kept my answers brief, not wanting to draw John into the conversation. Lillian had explained his absence while I was still outside and I was thankful I didn't have to listen to questions I myself didn't know the answer to .

An hour or so later, the boys were asleep in Lillian's lap and Mrs. Fawcett herself seemed drowsy. I rose with Lillian, having volunteered to help put the boys to bed, when Mr. Fawcett caught sight of my attire.

"Amelia, dear girl, what happened to your dress?"

I turned, holding the hand of a sleepy Lucas, and smiled bashfully while Lillian interrupted with the story.

"Oh my goodness, I completely forgot! Amelia was clipped by a wagon today in the city and hurt her shoulder. I forgot all about it. I'm so sorry!" She exclaimed, placing her free hand upon my arm.

I told her it was alright while Lillian took Lucas' hand from mine, Mrs. Fawcett having now stood up, interested. "Oh child, we should probably have look then. How bad does it hurt?" She asked. I told her I hadn't really felt the pain since the ride into Concord, which was true, and she left to fetch Esther who would be able to wrap it should it come to that.

Lillian set off with the boys to put them to bed, listening to their halfhearted attempts to show that they weren't tired, while Mr. Fawcett moved from his seat to stand by the window, gently pushing aside the curtains to look outside.

"Is there a problem with highwaymen, Mr. Fawcett?" I asked, curious. "Lillian and I passed men on the road with muskets on our way into town." Mr. Fawcett let the curtain drop and gave me a small smile. "No, there's no problem." He turned to cast one last look outside. "Not yet, at least."

I stood silent, confused by what he meant, but was pulled away by Esther who had suddenly appeared. She guided me away by the waist while Mr. Fawcett gave a me a small bow as farewell for the evening. I smiled at him, and then headed upstairs to Lillian's room. I found both her and Mrs. Fawcett waiting for me, fresh bandages and a simple night dress sitting next to Lillian on the bed. My other possessions were stacked neatly in the corner as well, and I remembered that I had only worn one dress, which was now soiled...

I was told to remove my blouse and I did so, with their help seeing as I couldn't lift my arm over my head, and then I stood silent, my arms crossed in front of my stay as the older women began to pull my shift down. I didn't really like undressing in front of others, even if they were other women, and I could feel my cheeks growing red. I winced as the last bit of fabric fell from my shoulder and I heard a collective gasp and Lillian rushed over to look.

"Dear Lord, child." Mrs. Fawcett said, her cool fingers gently touching my shoulder and I flinched. "You're lucky to have escaped with only this, if you want to be so bold..."

They moved me over to Lil's vanity and I turned my shoulder to look in the mirror. I too gasped at what I saw, the deep purple and green bruising having already blossomed from the joint of my arm and my shoulder outwards, fading in color along my shoulder blade. A small amount of road rash sat in the center, still dirty, and I knew it would have to be cleaned out in order for it to heal properly. I hadn't realized I had fallen so hard, and now seeing the injury made the pain reappear fresh in my mind.

The women then had me show just how high I could lift my arm, trying to determine where they should wrap it while still giving me the most support and mobility. I could only think of how difficult my chores and everyday movements were now going to be. I hadn't lifted something since we had arrived and didn't know which way my arm would allow me move. I still had to dress myself and ride back to the homestead tomorrow and I didn't like the idea not being able to either on my own. This lack of mobility annoyed me; I had never liked being dependent when I didn't need to be.

After a few more minutes, the women had cleaned and wrapped my shoulder. I hadn't broken or torn anything, at least from what I could show them, just badly bruised. A wrapping at this point was to keep infection out from the small scraps that sat exposed. I had mobility, but only a little, and I had to admit that the slight pressure from how tight the bandages were wrapped felt good, holding whatever bruised muscle in place.

Esther and Mrs. Fawcett said their goodnights to us and I changed into the night gown with Lillian's help and then we crawled into bed. I hadn't realized how tired I was until I put my head on her pillow, my eyes growing heavy. We said our goodnights and then blew out the candle, the only sounds coming from the wind outside and each other's breathing. I pulled my blanket up under my chin, a comforting action that I had done as a child, and even now was how I fell asleep when troubled or worried.

I could feel sleep coming over me, but my mind travelled back to Connor for the first time since our meeting and I wondered if we would ever truly see each other again. He was...strange, not only in the way he dressed, but I remembered his movements and the way he spoke. I smiled softly in the darkness at this idea of a man full of secrets. That's what he must be, for there was no other way to describe him. A Native with a education, a man not with the rebels nor with the British... He was a man with his own agenda, and I could respect that, but I wondered what that agenda might be...

My mind began to wander, overcome by that strange in-between of dream and reality, where one never knows what is true... I could hear the wind outside the window, the cold draft from the fireplace in Lil's room, the flame having died out... John sat beside me, his hand in mine, telling me the story a hero, a soldier who fought for truth and freedom. A man approached to deliver a letter, dressed in white, and behind him stood a sea of people, faceless, but nonetheless I knew who they were... John rose, the letter having called him away and I tried to get him to stay, but he wouldn't listen, his hand slipping from my own. The man in white leaned down and whispered in my ear, but I couldn't make out the words, and then replaced John's hand with his own. It was only before my eyes closed, as I watched John become one of the many faceless souls behind him, that I realized the man holding my hand was Connor's...


	5. And So It Begins - April 1775 - Part II

It seemed I had just fallen asleep when the cry of my name woke me.

I was still dreaming, of what I can't remember, but I watched as a desperate Mrs. Fawcett stood over me, the dim light of a dawning day casting an eerie glow over the room. I felt her warm hand upon my cheek, her desperate plea for Lillian and I to get out of bed.

Nothing made sense until I heard the noise.

Unfamiliar enough to be alarming, it was just a soft, far off noise, but distinct enough to sound like thunder. I sat upright, listening as Mrs. Fawcett let out a small cry and shook Lillian's foot who still lay sleeping. I continued to listen, the sound of other muffled gun shots growing louder with more quickly following. The more I listened, more I could hear.

"Lillian!" I yelled, grabbing her shoulders. "Lillian, get up! Shots are being fired near Concord!"

I tore the covers from her, forcing her to wake, and moved as quickly as I could to her chest, my dress having been thrown away after my shoulder was wrapped, to find a spare that might fit.

Lillian was listening to her mother who was ushering us quickly to get dressed and come downstairs. She was already wearing one of her more modest work dresses, but her hair was still left in the braid she wore it in for sleeping, and after Lillian had joined my side, she rushed downstairs, calling for Jacob.

"What's going on?!" Lillian asked, her voice frantic, as she stripped out of her nightgown and into a shift and simple skirt. I ignored her as I tossed her a stay and she slipped it on and I quickly tied the back. I began to pull on my shift as well, but had to stop as my shoulder protested against the harsh movements. The shots could still be heard as the shouts of men soon accompanied them, not close enough for alarm, but enough to have their cries be heard. Lillian helped me with my shift, skirt and stay, pulling a dark blue dress from the bottom of her chest to thrust over my head. It was long enough, but much too wide as Lillian quickly threaded the gown closed. After we were both dressed, Lillian rushed downstairs barefoot while I pulled on my stockings and my worn leather boots.

I descended the stairs to find Mrs. Fawcett, and a few other women that I recognized in the drawing room, Esther poring tea with shaking hands. Some were dressed, but others were wrapped in a blanket, their nightgowns showing slightly.

"Mother, what's going on? Is Concord under attack?" Lillian asked.

Mrs. Fawcett shook her head, holding a handkerchief to her mouth. "Not yet, but they will be if the rebels can't hold off the British. They attacked Lexington earlier in the morning, while were sleeping. The men, your father and Jacob included, ran off to join the others to make a stand against them late last night when a man came calling for aid..."

I watched the color drain from Lillian's face as she listened, the other women trying desperately to hold back their worry and fears. "Did you catch his name?" I asked, moving towards her. Mrs. Fawcett spoke shakily, her worry getting the best of her and I guided her to a nearby chair as she spoke softly. "No, I didn't know that they had left until I heard the horses ride off." I turned to Lillian, who was talking softly to her brothers. Simon and Lucas sat on the floor, each brother trying desperately to look brave by pretending nothing was wrong. Although Lucas was more overwhelmed by confusion, Simon seemed to understand the need for his composure. If he was show how frightened he was, then Lucas would to.

I took the opportunity to help Esther who was calmly moving from the drawing room to the kitchen. "Esther, are you alright?" I said, taking the shaking try from her. The woman nodded, but didn't meet my eyes as I followed her into the kitchen. I set the tray down and took her hands, forcing her to look at me.

"What can I do to help?" I asked; I hated seeing them worry.

Esther shook her head. "Ain't nothin' we can do now but wait, Miss 'Melia." She blinked her desperate eyes at me, all the fear of the world betrayed in those pale blue orbs. "It's the start of a war..."

I smiled sadly and kissed her hand fingers. "He'll be okay." I promised and left her in the kitchen, heading back upstairs to Lillian's parents room as quickly as I could. I tripped slightly over my dress as I pushed open the door, the extra fabric having been caught on something. Memories from the night before were beginning to make sense and I wondered how I could have been so naive'. The men on the roads last night as we entered Lexington weren't patrolling for highwaymen, they were waiting for the British, and the interest of Mr. Fawcett in news of the rebels was so he if he could know if something was going to happen, if he would be called to war or not.

"Amelia, what are you doing?"

I ignored Lillian who stood in the doorway of the room, her dark brown hair falling out from its loose braid. I pulled out a worn leather belt from one of Mr. Fawcett's drawers and secured it around my waist, securing any loose fabric. I felt slightly ashamed to be rummaging around in the Fawcett's possessions, but I wasn't about to stand by and worry over the people I loved when I knew I too could play a part in their safety.

"I'm going to go help." I said, trying to sound nonchalant. "The men will need water, food, and someone to treat injuries." I brushed past her and headed down the steps. My shoulder had resumed its throbbing, thanks to the hurried movements of my dressing, it's slow pace strange against the speed of my heart, but I ignored it as Lillian followed after me, calling my name.

"Amelia, wait!"

She caught my hand as I ran down the stairs, pulling me to a stop in front of the drawing room. The woman stopped with their hushed whispers to listen, Mrs. Fawcett rising to come towards us.

"If you go out there, you could be killed! You have no idea what's going on!" She cried, not letting go of my hand. I gently pulled myself away, taking another step towards the door. "Lil, I can't stand by and wait... I can't do that to myself when I know I could be helping, fighting, doing something!" I said, my voice shaking. I had never been in a battle before, but staying locked in a house full of panic and worry would eat me alive. I knew the risk I was going to take.

"Amelia, you can't go out there." Mrs. Fawcett said, stepping towards us. "This isn't your fight..."

"Not yet it's not..." I said, softly, pulling the ribbon from my hair and shaking out my braid, pulling it back into a loose ponytail. "Whatever happens out there today may very well affect us for the rest of our lives."

"If you go out there you may very lose it." Mrs. Fawcett said.

"I know that..."

"These men won't let you help them, child." Said one woman, taking a step forward. "You are a flower in the feild, one the will be overlooked and trampled ..." She paused, "You will be nothing more than another worry..."

"I can fire a musket." I declared. "I can protect myself, and others...should it come to that."

The women seemed surprised by this, aside from Lillian and her mother, who merely watched me with pained expressions. "Amelia, shooting a animal is one thing..." Lillian said, "But do you honestly think you'd be able to kill another man?"

I said nothing. I had never seen another person die, and thinking that I may very well be the cause for one man to lose his life twisted my stomach into knots. I had never treated major wounds before either, having only once helped clean up my eldest brother's accidental shooting in his leg when he was home from the navy when I was very young. Even then, Guy's injury was minor and clean compared to the bloodied men I heard from stories...

I turned to go again , wanting to leave before I, or anyone else could talk me out of it, but Lillian caught my hand again and held fast. "Amelia, you can't go out there..." He eyes were frightened, "You'll get yourself killed!"

I squeezed her hands a little tighter, only looking down to notice how bad I was actually shaking.

"Lil..." I said softly, "If your father, or Jacob, doesn't return home today, I'll never forgive myself if I knew that I may have in some way prevented it."

The woman in the other room sat silent, Mrs. Fawcett's mouth agape as Lillian stood speechless. I smiled and gave her a swift kiss on the cheek and then headed out the door, hearing Simon and Lucas call after me as it shut behind me.

I pulled up my skirts and ran along the road, following the sound of gun fire. I had no idea what I was doing, but I deviated from the road to climb a nearby hill that hopefully overlooked most of the settlement, so I could get my bearings of where the fight was taking place. To suddenly run out into a standoff would be unfortunate...

Pushing past branches and fallen trees, I finally found a small clearing near the top, my warm breath making small clouds in the cool April morning. Overlooking what area of the town I could see, I gasped at the size of the battle, a sea of red dominating most of the terrain. I watched as both militia and the rebels stood their ground, their routes looking as if they were avoiding the homes behind where I stood, but to the west I could see the regrouping of the rebels as the British militia advanced towards the bridge that lead to Concord, the main area of the town having yet been attacked. I breathed a small sigh of relief knowing that Lil and the others would be safe and took off down the hill, moving towards the rebels lines.

I could hear the shouts of the men as I got close to the houses and smell the smoke from the gunpowder as I moved through the streets, waiting until the I heard the shouts to fire before I moved again. I wasn't the only ones running, other women and children fled towards their home for safety. The red coats had just entered the town in the east, the steady sound of their marching seeming a steady, but dreary, beat.

I followed the steady stream of men and women, the rebel leaders calling for civilians to head into Concord and to get as many people out as possible and to send aid if they could. I crossed the bridge, pushing through the largest group of men who were had set up boxes for cover. I walked along the riverbank, where almost all of the men were gathered around small barricades, building them higher with whatever supplies they could find. None of them seemed to notice my presence, but I scanned each of their faces in hopes of finding Mr. Fawcett or Jacob as I moved through them. I felt a firm grip on my arm as I passed one group of men throwing logs on top of some drift wood, the nearby trees giving them extra protection. I spun around to see who had grabbed it as shouts for readying lines grew more frantic in the distance.

"What are you doing here, missy?" The man yelled, "This place isn't safe!" His face was full of confusion and his declaration had drawn the attention of the others who stopped momentarily from their work to look at me.

"I can help!" I said, pulling my arm away, ignoring the pain from my shoulder. "Let me take care of the wounded, or run supplies!" The man let out a shaky laugh, but gripped his musket tighter. "The battle field isn't the place for a woman..."

Another man ran down from another nearby group, his musket held tightly to his shoulder. "The British are here! Prepare your fire!" He yelled.

The man gave me one last look of frustration and unease as the sounds of marching grew loud, the shouts of British commanders barely heard over the noise. I looked over his head back across the bridge, my heart racing as a steady stream of red poured out from among the houses, seemingly endless.

"Just stay out of the way, girl!" The man yelled, running back to join his comrades. "Join the other near the trees! See if you'll be any help there!" He called over his shoulder as he crouched down and I turned and ran through the trees, back towards the main road, following the yells of other soldiers.

I could hear the sounds of hooves through the trees as a man rode by on a horse, his deep voice calling for all men to wait for his signal before firing. I could barely see the British began to set up their lines, the rebels waiting silently for the order to fire. I burst onto the road, nearly running into someone, and saw the rest of the rebels waiting for orders. I turned to look towards Concord to see other women, maybe four or five, hurrying down the road from the trees, carrying water pails and folds of cloth in their arms. I ran over to them to help carry their supplies, regrouping with the other men just as the first shots began to fire, and I couldn't help but look over my shoulder.

I jumped as the guns released, the loud cracks of sound accompanying the men who fell with the sound. A few redcoats fell to the ground on the other side of the river while others fired back, the shots ricocheting off of rocks and splintering the wood of nearby trees. I ducked, praying that I was out of the line of fire, but I listened as I heard the cries of men who had been hit.

I stood still, unsure of what to do, my bravery all but fading. I felt the need for gun, more for comfort than anything, but I was helpless to get one. I didn't want to wander out onto the battle field without it, but I didn't have to. Some men appeared then, struggling to carry their injured comrades and the other women and I quickly replaced them, carrying them whichever way we could to lay them down on the grass. Most injuries, thankfully, were not bad, many just grazed by a bullet, but others required serious attention. I did what I could, but one of the older women could tell that I was struggling. I didn't like watching them suffer...

I was told to go help bring men to them, run out into the battle field or meet the men halfway so that way they could get back to the fight. I took my leave, thankful, wiping the blood on my hands on the grass as I ran off.

I moved along the groups, staying behind the path of the man on the horse, knowing that if I moved any closer, I would most likely be shot. I listened as a string of curse words was let out and I turned to see a man huddled on the ground, gripping his leg in agony. I took a deep breath and gathered what was left of my courage to run out into the open. I ducked to the ground just as the British returned fire, the men startled to see me at first, but then thankful as I used my good shoulder to support the man's weight as we limped away from the fight. I brought him to the others, the man thanking me as the older woman began to tear his pant leg.

"Good work, child." She said, looking up. "Try not to look at their wounds..."

I nodded and ran off again. I don't know how long I did this, but it was the least I could do. More men were being shot trying to bring others to safety, and with another pair of hands, both usually returned safely to be helped and to help the fight. I did what I could, and as much as I didn't want to notice, I could smell the blood from the men's wounds on my dress, but I did as I was told and never once looked to see the injury, even when I knew it was bad. I was about to return to the front lines when I heard someone call out to me.

"Miss! You girl, in the blue dress!"

I turned, seeing the same man who had yelled at me before being treated by another woman. His pant leg was bloody, the woman working quickly to roll up the material as I rushed over to him, helping the woman by holding back the material.

The man cringed as he sat up, grabbing the musket at his side and holding it out to me.

"Take this back to the men I was with, they need the extra shots." I took the gun, the woman casting me a strange look as I threw the musket over my good shoulder with ease. The man grabbed my dress, pulling me back before I could run off.

"Make it count." He said seriously. I nodded and then ran off.

The man had been near the lower part of the river, using driftwood and other fallen trees for cover. I made my way there, staying in cover and waiting for the British to return fire before sprinting out and sliding into cover with the other men. I landed on my bad shoulder, but I ignored the pain as I flung my musket around and began to reload it, the other men either surprised or confused to see me.

"A man wanted me to return his gun to you!" I said to them, ducking as I heard the British fire. "He said you'd need the extra shots!" I held the gun out to another man who had just taken another shot, his eyes looking me over for a moment, and then he began to reload his own gun.

"If you know how to load the gun, then I'm betting you know how to shoot it." He said pointedly. I only stared at him, but I nodded and took a deep breath, placing the gun in my shoulder. The pressure hurt, but I ignored it. The bearded man placed his hand over mine and told me to wait for the signal. I did as I was told and sat silent.

I took a deep breath, listening for the deep voice of the man riding the horse. Upon hearing his call to fire, I swung myself out of cover and braced the gun on the tree, biting my lip against the pain and took my aim. I fired and quickly ducked away behind cover, reloading my weapon. I breathed a sigh of relief as I reloaded my weapon, my courage returning. I wasn't sure if I had hit anything, but I could do this. I just had to be smart and quick.

It continued this way for some time, the other men pushing my head lower as shots flew off from the tree, sending showers of splinters or small cascades of dirt raining down upon us. I was quick to fire when the time called for action and quick to retreat, my aim, I hoped being true. The red coats seemed to never end, their fire as relentless as our own. The call to fire was heard once again and I swung out with another man and took my aim, holding my breath and closing one eye, I picked my target...

As I was about to pull the trigger and then a strong pair of hands pulled me up by the back of my dress and spun me over to a tree, thrusting my back against it as the body protected me from the onslaught of fire that rained down on the tree where I had just been sitting, one man crying out in pain. I turned my face away as splinters and the sharp whizz of a bullet ricocheted off a nearby rock.

"What the hell are you doing here?!"

I looked up, startled by the familiar voice, into the furious face of Connor.


	6. And So it Begins - April 1775 - Part III

Connor was angry.

He was more than angry, he was furious.

Connor stared down at me, his eyes livid while his face seemed torn between confusion and surprise. How those emotions ended up turning into anger escaped me, but his fury only turned my emotions from surprise to an anger to match his own.

"What am I doing here?" I yelled, pushing him away from me, "What the hell are YOU doing here?!"

Connor pushed me back against the tree as more bullets came upon our little defense, the rebels calling to one another to prepare for a return attack.

"I'm helping Barrett hold the defense to Concord." He said, leaning against the tree with his hands on either side of my face, shielding me from fire. "I came looking for General Pitcairn."

I glared up into Connor's face as I heard the rebels return fire, the tension between us growing the longer we stood in each other's presence. I had heard of Pitcairn before, his name a common conversation piece in Boston, but why would Connor be looking for him?

"I came to help the rebels." I said defiantly, glaring up at him. "And I plan to do what I can." I ducked underneath his arm, but before I was more than a few feet away, Connor grabbed my wrist and pulled me back into the cover of the trees.

"This is no place for a woman." He said, his voice stern.

I pulled my hand away, taking a step closer to him.

"You are in no place to tell me what I can and cannot do!" I yelled at him. "These are my people and this is MY fight! I will play my part in whatever way I can."

Connor ignored me speech, holding me back against a tree by my shoulders. I grimaced, but if he noticed, he didn't remove his hands.

"I cannot let you stay here and watch you lose your life." He said, his voice rough with a controlled rage. "Not when I could have prevented it. You must return home."

It wasn't a request. It was a command. His dark eyes dared me to defy him and for a moment, I seriously considered it. I had come to help and I had done just that. If the British broke through, they would likely take prisoners, and as woman, what could I do? I hadn't seen Mr. Fawcett nor Jacob since I arrived on the battle field, neither amongst the wounded nor the able bodied. Wherever they were, I prayed that they were safe, that my actions somehow protected them, but I knew know that whatever I did now was only going to place me in unnecessary danger. It would do nothing for either men, nor for Connor, if I ended up captured or dead.

"What would you have me do?" I asked, turning into him as bullets rained down upon the trees, and he shielded me protectively, turning himself to face the front of the fire. I looked up at him again, still angry for his interruption; I didn't like admitting he was right. "How do you expect me to cross through back to Lexington when the area is consumed with Red Coats?!"

Connor looked down at me and then, reluctantly, pulled his pistol from his belt, handing it to me.

"How well can you shoot?" He asked.

I took the gun from him, and I could feel by the weight of it that it was already loaded. Feeling courageous and slightly offended, I pulled back the hammer and in one fluid motion aimed at a tree some fifty feet away and pulled the trigger, cleanly breaking off a small limb, making me seem much better of a shot than I truly was. The shot was a lucky one, as I was aiming for the trunk of the tree, but I smugly looked up at Connor who seemed impressed. I wasn't about to tell him that I had technically missed.

Connor's face was quickly serious again and he took the gun from me to reload it. "Head back along the river; north." He said, not looking at me. "There is a shallow part that you can wade through. Do so, and return to your home. I'll find you later."

He handed the gun back to me and took it, tucking it between my belt and waist. I silently wondered if this was a promise or a threat.

"Fawcett manor." I said. "That's where I'm staying."

Connor nodded, shielding me one last time before pointing me in the direction I was supposed to go. There was a momentary pause in fire and I knew I had to leave now, my chance quickly leaving.

"Don't lose my gun." He commanded.

I glared at him one last time and then left him standing there as I sprinted down the hill towards the river, staying in the line of the trees. The British fired and I quickly hid myself, but I was far enough away now that the red coats were no longer interested. I jogged down along the river, keeping my eyes open for the shallow part that Connor had mentioned. I quickly found it, some seven hundred feet from the bridge, where game crossed from one side to the other, the foliage having been pushed aside and the soft earth destroyed by the men who had crossed it earlier. I pulled up my skirts and stepped into the frigid water, my breath catching as it quickly rose above my knees and to my waist.

"Your damn gun..." I muttered, pulling Connor's pistol from my waist and holing it above water as I walked across. I was thankful that the current wasn't stronger than it was, for it easily could have knocked me into the water, or pulled Connor's gun from my hip. I silently wondered why Connor had felt the need to pull me from the line of fire, or how he recognized me. Perhaps he would have done the same for any woman, but a part of me knew that part of his rage was from the fact that it was me who had been in the way of danger. I ignored the thoughts, and after reaching the other side, I tried to ring out my skirts the best that I could, my teeth chattering as I rubbed my legs to help them regain their warmth.

After a few moments, I quickly walked up the shallow hill and into the small grouping of houses that lined the road into Concord. Staying out of sight, I peered around the edge of one small home to see only a few groups of British were occupying the small streets, out of formation and awaiting orders for the possible march into Concord. A few were monitoring houses, checking the areas for any possible rebels who had yet to reach the defenses or being held within the homes. Two men sat upon horses, talking to each other, but blocking the road where I needed to go. I quickly made my way past them, the squish from my wet boots and still damp skirts making just enough noise to make me nervous as I snuck past. Connor's pistol sat ready in my hand, but I wasn't seen as I made my way back towards the manor, although my sneaking was less than graceful. I decided the best path would probably be to take the route through the forest and stay out of sight, even if it would take a little longer.

I headed back into the trees, using familiar areas to guide me back to Lillian's. I had reached the top of one hill when I heard shouting from below. I quickly moved a clearing to look out over the area. Red coats were beginning to be pushed back towards the houses, the rebels firing after them as they chased them back. The stream wasn't steady, but I could see the hesitation and the fear in the British as I watched, the small lines of soldiers beginning to crumble under the possibilities of defeat.

A few minutes later, I came out to the road that lead to Lillian's and quickly ran towards the property. As soon as the house came into view though, the front doors were opened and Lillian rushed outside, her mother following, while a few of the ladies stood on the stone steps to watch.

Lillian tackled me, wrapping me in a hug and I was relieved to see her safe. She was crying, her shoulders shaking as she held me, but when I pulled away her face held no joy to see me. Mrs. Fawcett joined us soon after, her face too stained with tears and I quickly embraced her as well.

"Please," I said. "What's happened? Have the men returned?" I asked, fearing the worse.

Mrs. Fawcett shook her head, trying to compose herself, but Lillian explained everything.

"The boys... They've gone missing! We- we don't know where they've gone, but we can't find them. We think they followed you, or at least tried to..."

I took a step backwards, the knot in my stomach suddenly returning. Simon and Lucas? They were boys and full of irrational ideas, but to follow me to the battle? They wouldn't be that brave...

Lillian continued, grabbing my hand. "We noticed about an hour after you had left... To make matters worse, they've taken my father's extra hunting pistol. Simon has been beginning to learn how to use it..."

I hid my face, crouching to the ground, the pain in my chest and the worry that was accompanying it quickly becoming too overwhelming. Simon was brave and Lucas would do anything his brother did. The love they had for their father...and my irrational act of bravery in their presence must have spurred them to action. If they were killed, it would be my fault...

I rose, checking my hip to make sure that the pistol was still there. All though the boys were brave, they couldn't have gotten far. They most likely were hidden in the small cluster of houses at the bottom of the hill or near the bridge. I was cursing myself for not being more aware as I passed through, but what could I have done if I had seen them?

The sound of a horse along the road quickly caught our attention and I took out the pistol and cocked it, motioning for Lillian and her mother to stand behind me. The other women, as annoying as they were, moved a little into the house, others watching from the windows.

The rider came into view and I instantly recognized him, the white robes and dark skin an instant giveaway. I sighed thankfully and jogged forward to meet him as he pulled his horse to a stop and gracefully dismounted. He lowered his hood as I approached and looked over me carefully, his eyes falling to his pistol that was still in my hand. A sudden idea was forming and I begged the Lord that he would accept it.

"Connor," I said, thankful to see him. "Connor, please, I need your help." Connor raised an eyebrow, looking over at Lillian and her mother, and then towards the house where the other women were watching us curiously and slightly apprehensive.

"You seem to need my help often." He said, a little annoyed. I glared him, holding his pistol a little tighter. "This is Miss Lillian, one of my closest friends, and her mother, Mrs. Catherine Fawcett." I motioned back to where the others stood, waving at them with my free hand and they drew near. Lillian was watching us with wide-eyed curiosity while Mrs. Fawcett was merely embarrassed to be seen in her work dress. Connor nodded slightly and Lillian and her mother smiled awkwardly.

"This family is as dear to me as my own, and their two youngest sons have gone missing because of me."

This seemed to catch his attention and I held his gaze as I explained what happened. He didn't say anything, but I couldn't help the worry that caused my voice to shake. Mrs. Fawcett and Lillian both were on the verge of tears again, and although I could tell the emotion made Connor uncomfortable, I needed him to see how desperately we needed his assistance.

"Connor, I can't find them by myself."

He was silent a moment but then he nodded, holding his hand out for his gun. "I'll help you find them, but it would be best if you came with me." He said and I was startled by this. I placed the gun in his hand and he put it back on his belt, not breaking away from my eyes. "It will be easier for me to protect them if they can be with someone they trust."

Mrs. Fawcett let out a sigh of relief and Lillian smiled at us. She gave me a quick hug, saying, "You'll find them. I know you will."

Connor mounted his horse and then extended his hand to me. I grabbed it and he pulled me behind him in one swift motion which caught me off guard and I nearly tumbled over the other side. I quickly wrapped my arms around his waist, which shocked him, for he cast me a strange look when I didn't let go.

He mumbled something I didn't understand and shifted underneath by grip but then turned the horse and headed back down the hill. After a few moments, Connor turned the horse and headed into the trees. A few minutes later, we had dismounted Connor lead the horse to a small covering of trees and let it stay. I was curious as to why he didn't tie it up, but I followed him to where the forest met with the edge of the small area of town. Crouching down, Connor motioned for me to do the same, and then quietly, but quickly, lead me to one of the homes. My skirts were still a little damp, muffling the noise they could have made, and I was thankful for it. Connor held out his hand and slowly came to his side. Leaning out from behind one of the edges, a group of British militia were scrambling to send defenses to the quickly crumbling attack on the North Bridge, the commander obviously angry, his voice carrying out over the area.

A few shouts and the sound of firearms were heard down the road and the triumphant cry of the rebels quickly came through. In the brief distraction, Connor sprinted towards another home, one closer to center, and I quickly followed. The commander quickly called for a horse and mounted it. I watched from the corner as he shouted at his men.

"Send all available men to the road! If these rebels push us back it will start their spark for revolution! You there!"

I watched as he pointed to a small grouping of men, five in total, who quickly straightened at his voice.

"Stay here and watch for the civilians. If you see any trouble, don't hesitate to fire..."

He rode off and the men quickly began to patrol the road, looking up at the houses. I felt Connor pull me away from the edge of the building, forcing me to crouch in the shadows.

"If I'm to keep you alive, you must do exactly as I do!" He whispered aggressively. "Stay close to me, and I can keep you safe."

A sudden noise caused me to jump and Connor to draw his pistol. I heard the soldiers shout as the simple sound of a bullet ricocheted off of a stone near the other side of the houses. Connor and I both quickly made our way to the edge and I peered out from behind him to see the British, guns at the ready, looking for the whoever was shooting at them.

"The boys sole their father's pistol." I whispered, looking at Connor.

"Would they use it?" He asked, checking his own.

"If they had chance, I don't see why they wouldn't..."

Connor lead me back around to where the shot should have been fired from, being more careful not to draw attention from the militia who were already wary. No more shots were fired, but I couldn't help but hope for another one. Connor couldn't get any closer to look without running the risk of being seen and I was an added risk that needed to be protected. It seemed almost foolish to ask for Connor's help if he wasn't going to trust that I could handle myself.

We were getting ready to move to yet another location, this time, one that crossed the road. Connor went first, swift and silent, and then after a few moments, he gently waved his hand to call me over.

I ran, but something caught my eye. The glint of a polished pistol, the dark brown hair in a sea of green grass... It didn't matter, because what mattered was the fact that I stopped.

I stopped, there, in the middle of the path, and felt my stomach drop when I saw them. Every fear, every worry, and every ounce of hope I had was left behind as I watched. I don't know how long I stood there, but it seemed like forever. They were hiding from the British, Simon having shot at them from behind a small stone well, who was now trying desperately to reload the pistol. Lucas sat next to him, his hands over his mouth, keeping him from making noise. A soldier was getting closer, very close, his musket ready, his eyes searching. I didn't want to believe that the soldier would do anything to them, but the actions of men were never to be underestimated. If I didn't so something, in a the next few steps he would be right on top of them.

I didn't think then, I just reacted. If Connor said anything, I didn't hear him as I sprinted to the two boys and slid into their hiding place. My shoulder aching, I heard the shouts of the English solider as he quickly called out to me, but Simon, although startled to see me, didn't protest as I took his father's gun, quickly finished reloading it, and swung out to fire. Through the smoke I saw the bullet hit its mark, ignoring the blood as it cut through his chest, but his cry quickly warned the others who had already began running towards us. I swung back behind the well, pulling the boys heads down, and upon realizing that I was out of bullets, I placed the gun between my belt and ducked as a bullet whizzed off the stones. The boys screamed and I quickly stood. Grabbing Lucas, I threw him onto my hip and pulled Simon up by his hand and sprinted towards the cover of the houses. Bullets flew past us, and Simon covered his head. I protected Lucas as best as I could, but I heard him cry out as I bullet grazed his arm, his scream causing me to stumble.

I ducked behind the house where I last saw Connor, but he wasn't there. I didn't know how much time I had, but I quickly sat Lucas down and could feel the warm blood on his arm. Pushing up his sleeve, I was relieved to see that the shot had only grazed him, but it was a heavy injury for a six year old. I quickly tore off a piece of the hem of my dress and tied it around his arm, wiping his tears.

I suddenly felt someone pull me by the back of my dress and I was thrown to the ground. I looked up and quickly backed away as a red coat stood above me, a pistol in his hand.

"We've caught ourselves a little rebel wentch..."

If he was going to say anything more, he didn't get a chance to as an arrow suddenly hit him in the back, the tip protruding slightly from his chest. I screamed and scrambled backwards slightly as he fell to the ground, a look of surprise and pain on his face. I looked first at the body and then into the distance where the shot was fired from. Connor stood in the distance, his bow drawn and the same serious rage as before on his face.

The boys quickly joined me on the ground, each crying and apologizing for running off. I consoled them the best I could, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from Connor's face. I couldn't tell if he was angry with me or with the solider, but it didn't matter.

The boys grew quite as he approached and I rolled over to my good arm to push myself up. I felt a hand underneath hold me by uninjured shoulder and a swift pull as Connor pulled me upright.

"You'll injure your shoulder even more if you do it yourself..." was all he said, the same furious glare as before staring down at me.

I nodded, unable to apologize and knowing it would do nothing. Connor knelt to the ground suddenly, replacing his bow, and meeting the boys at eye level, his demeanor instantly changed. They were quiet, looking at me for reassurance, but Connor quickly caught their attention.

"My name is Connor." He said, a small smile on his face. "I'm going to take you home. You can trust me."

The boys nodded and then Connor turned back to me.

"We need to get going. The British are still being pushed back and I don't want to be caught in the retreat."

I nodded, still unsure of what to say, and I knelt down to pick up Lucas, who was still crying silently, and shifted him over to my good arm. Simon quietly grabbed my free hand. Connor was watching me carefully, his face still serious, but then we quickly headed back into the cover of the trees.

Eventually, we returned to the road that lead to the Fawcett's property, but Connor and I had still said nothing. Lucas had cried himself to sleep in on my shoulder and I could hear Simon sniffle on occasion, his hand gripping mine as if his life depended on it. I didn't know if they would be in trouble or not, but I was just thankful they weren't injured any worse that Lucas' arm. His cut had stopped bleeding and I was thankful that my makeshift bandaged had worked.

I was tired. My body, especially my shoulder, throbbed. For the second time, I looked like a disaster compared to Connor's immaculate attire. My dress was torn, bloodstained and dirty. My hair was falling out of its ponytail and falling out around my face which was covered in sweat and dirt. I was becoming more and more aware of injuries that I had obtained, a small cut on my back beginning to burn and my I had twisted my ankle slightly with my run through the forest. I ignored it the best I could, my pride making me refuse to acknowledge my need for help, but I also didn't want to show Connor that I couldn't handle it.

Connor walked next me, protectively, silently, and I stole a brief glance at him.

"What happened to the other soldiers?" I asked eventually.

There had been at least five other men patrolling the area, and although my memory was slightly foggy from the adrenaline, at least two had heard the cry of the solider that I had shot.

Connor looked down at me and lowered his hood.

"I killed them." He said.

I looked at his face, but he betrayed no emotion. A part of me, and I knew exactly why, was actually terrified of him. As protected as I felt, I knew that feeling came from the fact that Connor, if need be, could kill whatever it was that was threatening me, him, or anyone else. The memory of the solider that he killed in front of me flashed through my mind and I gently shook my head, trying to clear the image. I didn't even see Connor attack the other men...

"I'm sorry I exposed us..." I said finally, letting my guilt overwhelm me. "I..I wasn't thinking. I was just worried they'd be found."

Connor sighed and ran a hand through his hair, obviously frustrated.

"They easily could have killed you all."

I knew that, but I didn't say anything. After a moment, Connor said, "You were brave, Amelia, but bravery does not justify stupidity."

"I did what I thought was right..."

"You did."

I looked away then, unsure of how to respond, and then I said quietly, "I owe you my life...for more than one occasion now."

"You owe me nothing."

"Connor, please, don't be like that." I said, looking up at him sternly. "I'll find a way to repay you, I just... I just don't know how. I've endangered both our lives..."

"Giving your life to another is a heavy debt to pay..."

"You don't think I know that?"

"I do not think you know a lot of things..."

I glared at him, unsure of what he meant. "Why are you so cryptic?" I accused, frustrated. "I may be a woman and I may be young, but I can take care of myself. If you have something to say to me, just say it."

"I did not mean to insult you." He said, his tone slightly tense.

"Well, you did."

He let out a small frustrated laugh at that which only made me angrier.

We suddenly came into view of the manor and I was relieved that Lillian and her mother were still outside, waiting for us. Upon seeing his sister, Simon let go of my hand and ran to her, Lillian scooping him up in a hug as she cried. Mrs. Fawcett embraced her eldest son while Lillian came to me and gently woke the sleeping Lucas who began to cry all over again at the sight of his sister and mother.

"They were very brave." Connor said to Mrs. Fawcett, who came up to us holding Simon as I handed back her husband's pistol. "They must take after their father."

Connor's face changed slightly at this remark, but only for a second and I thought that I had imagined it. Mrs. Fawcett only nodded and whispered a quiet thank you as she lead the boys into the house.

Lillian came forward then and extended her hand, and much to my surprise, Connor took it, shaking it briefly.

"Thank you so much for helping Amelia find my brothers." Lillian said. "My family owes you a great debt..."

Connor shook his head. "Please, none of you owe me anything." He looked at me while he said it, but I pretended not to notice. "I only ask that they not be punished too harshly."

Lillian smiled, and looked down at the ground, kicking the dirt with feet. "I can't promise that, but I can promise that they won't be running off to battle anytime soon."

She bowed this time and cast a quick look at me, and then returned to her mother.

Connor and I stood silently a moment and then he whistled, loud and sharp. For what I didn't know, but I walked with him a little ways down the road until a horse, different from the one that we had rode on together appeared, trotting up to us.

Connor spoke to it, calming it, and then turned back to me.

"Thank you again, Connor." I said, stroking the horses nose. "I mean that, and you had every right to be angry with me back there. I almost got us all killed."

Connor looked at me thoughtfully and then said, "Those boys would have died had you not."

I nodded, slightly frustrated by his confusing display of approval and anger at my decision, and then looked away, unsure of what to say.

"Connor, is there any chance..." I paused, thinking. Connor looked at me, waiting, pulling up his hood, and then I said it, feeling the color rise to my cheeks. "I was wondering if there was any chance I might see you again. So that...so I might be able to repay you, when the time comes..."

I could feel my face burning and I was so confused as to why I was suddenly tripping over my words. Connor's faced softened a bit and then he turned away, and I swear a small, mocking smile sat on his lips.

"I do not want you to believe that you own me anything, Amelia." He said. "What I did, I did for a friend."

I was still blushing, but I nodded and this time he extended his hand to me. I took it, a small electric current passing through my arm as I did so, making me blush harder and I hated it.

"Friends then...?" I said.

"Friends." Connor replied.

He broke the grip first and then mounted his horse, pulling his face once again somber.

"Amelia." He said.

"Goodbye, Connor."

With that, he turned down the road and left me standing there, my hand still tingling and my face still on fire.


	7. To Miss Brightmore - June 17 1775

Letter to Miss Amelia Brightmore

From Henry Gregory Chase

The Seventeenth of June, 1775

Dear Amelia,

I've enlisted into the British army. I write to inform you of my battalion should you wish to write to me (which I hope you will) and so that you may tell your family personally. We've been friends for so long that it felt only necessary to let you know first beyond my own family of my decision. I ask that you only pray for my protection and keep me company with your letters. It's been so long since I've received one...

I was surprised to learn of your release from Redgrave earlier this winter and I apologize for not calling upon you or writing to you sooner. I've been busy helping my father with our business and I too have been going to school, none of which serve as an appropriate excuse for not contacting you though. My sister says, that you were involved in a serious scandal, and I can't help but feel some embarrassment for you. Whatever it is that you have done, I'm thankful that rumors have long since passed. Rosie only remembers that you had gone to New York for some reason...

But I digress, I didn't write you to shame you or to beg for a story. I write to ask that the bond between our families stays strong in these next few months. We each have our own reasons for joining the fight, but I pray that your family stays uninvolved on both sides. I do not think this little disagreement between our King and his colonies will last long, but I am prepared to honor my heritage and defend the long lasting glory that is our true home. I assume, then, that John has already enlisted with the rebels; he always was so rash. Forgive me, I don't mean to speak of him in a past tense, but it seems a common trait now when speaking of old friends. His last few letters to me were very cryptic but held a fiery passion when we exchanged our ideas on politics. If he wasn't already involved with rebels, I have no doubt that he is now. It's a shame, really, that my best friend be so blind. I do not know what I'll do if I see him on the battlefield, but by the will of God I pray I won't have to. Hopefully, this will be settled quickly and as civilly as possible. The events of April don't give me much hope though. The attack of the rebels seemed more for pride than for a point. We weren't there though, so we may never know.

I also wish to ask about your mother and grandfather, both of them being English breed and born, so I worry about the division in your house. I assume, naturally, that you stand with the colonies, seeing as this is where you were born, but I ask you to please remember where it is you come from. Your house is torn then, as I knew it would be, but I pray that even though I do not stand by you that you would pray for my safe homecoming, and hopefully, at the end of this, we will still be friends. Should I be in Boston for any extended amount of time, I'll write and I pray that you would meet with me. There are some things that I have put off for far too long and must be said now.

I remain your loyal friend,

Henry


	8. To Miss Brightmore - September 15 1775

Letter to Miss Amelia Brightmore

From Johnathon Brightmore

The Fifteenth of September, 1775

Dear Sister,

Before I say anything more, let me first apologize to you. I did not think that I would be called to arms as quickly as I was and had no choice but to leave you and Lillian alone before the attacks on Lexington and Concord. I worried for your safety when I heard where the British were moving, hoping that they would simply move beyond that area, but we took our stand there and I prayed that you would be outside of the fight. I should have known that instead you would be in the middle of it.

I received your letter, and I do apologize, again, for my deceiving you, but I couldn't betray the trust of the man who had shared the information with me. You understand my trepidation, I'm sure, since it was you who managed to distract the soldiers from our pursuit earlier that day in Boston, now so long ago, and for that I am ever grateful. How strange it is to think that it has already been over two months since we declared our independence. That two months ago, our plans and ideas for freedom had to be kept hidden from the world. Now, we wave this flag freely and I have to admit that I am very confident in our capabilities as an army. True, we lack both the numbers and the skill of the British, but they lack passion. The sole purpose of this revolution is not to show that we are better than they, but to show that we are equals. We stand now at the threshold of history, and I do not think we will fail.

Please know, dear sister, that I am not angry with you for reading my letter. I knew, had you received the chance, you would probably look for any information about what I do, but I cannot unfortunately share some information with you still. It must wait for now, but if you truly desire to play a more active role in this, seek a man named Samuel Adams who resides in Boston. I cannot say much, for fear of other eyes reading this letter, but I can tell you that he was a dear friend of our father's. I will write to him to introduce you, so be ready for his call; he is a man of strange timings I have found.

When I return, whenever that will be, I want to hear more of your presence in the battle of Lexington and Concord. I could picture you as I read your words of how you fought alongside other men and I was very proud. I bragged about you to several men until they threatened me with violence to hold my tongue. Nonetheless, know that your deeds have received many applause and support, although they are unconventional. Then again, you have never been a _conventional_ young woman. As for your nightmares, take comfort in the fact that they will end soon enough. It doesn't surprise me that what you saw would cause you to see these things as many of my comrades suffer from the same fate. They will pass and I beg you not to dwell on them, for it only will make them worse. If need be, tell them to Tabitha, or to mother, if she will listen. Talking to someone will surely be beneficial and Tabitha's teas can put anyone to sleep should the continue to get worse.

I miss you dearly, along with mother and grandfather. Give them my love and apologize to mother for me, as I know she's less than pleased with my choice of action and even less pleased that I left you all without so much as a goodbye. For now, I am moving north, and will under the command of General Montgomery with the hopes of taking Fort St. Jean. I will see you again soon, I am sure.

With all my love,

John


	9. Reunion - October 1775 - Part I

**I promise! Connor is coming! Each chapter is usually broken down into two or three sections and since this story is, technically, about Amelia, it's important to me to have her play the center role. Therefore, Connor won't be in every single section, but, take comfort in the fact that Connor is in almost every single chapter and there are a lot of them coming. He'll be around, so please hold on to your patience just a bit longer! Things will begin to get a little more interesting soon. Thanks for reading and I hope that you enjoy. Also, I apologize for any mistakes... It's was pretty late (or early in the morning) when I finished this... Loyally, SF**

"No...please, no!...NO!"

I bolted upright, waking myself with my own screams. Desperately, I glanced around my room, watching as yet another nightmare faded from my mind. Shaking from fear, I ran a hand through my unbrushed hair, closing my eyes against the images that threatened to return. I had been plagued with nightmares since the beginning of summer, each one different than the last but always holding a common element. Sometimes, I would wander onto an open field only to find it littered with the bodies of fallen soldiers who would rise and blame me for their demise, their faces the same as the men I had fought with and against that day in Lexington. In one, a man with a bloodied face, unrecognizable with dark holes for eyes and a mouth full of sharp, pointed teeth, would draw ever closer from the enemy line, calling my name as I fumbled to reload my gun, only to be eventually caught and killed. In another, I would watch helplessly as Boston was burned to the ground, the bodies and cries of the ones I loved could be heard and seen amongst the flames as I stood beyond, unable to stop the consuming fire.

This one had been different though; simple and extraordinary, but so real that I still sat shaking because of it. I had walked along a path, a road of abandoned houses and empty stables with a dark and threatening forest as their backdrop. A heavy fog sat on the ground, a full moon shone above me, and I could feel a presence watch me as I walked through the deserted pathway. I carried a pistol, my only defense, cocked and ready in my shaking hands. The path ended suddenly and I stood in the same field as many of my other dreams, but this time, there were no bodies, just one in the distance. As I got closer, I recognized its features; the light brown hair, the deep brown eyes... I ran closer still but stopped, for standing over him was a man, his face calm and curious but I did not know him. He was dressed in a military uniform, neither English nor Colonial, but he seemed proper and official, as if he had seen many battles and his coat was stained with blood. I called out to John, I could hear the plea in my voice as I begged for him to be alive, but he would not move. Then, the man was suddenly there, whispering in my ear, telling me that John had died and it was my fault. I had deserted him, betrayed him when he was most in need, left him cold and alone as he died burdened by the weight of freedom that I had placed on him. I fell then to my knees, overcome by guilt and shame, only to be told by the man that freedom carried a heavy price to pay.

I shivered again, drawing my quilt closer around my shoulders. I didn't remember what happened next but I knew I died there on that field. I awoke every time fearful that I would lose the very breath in my lungs, only to catch it before it left me. A mix of memory and everyday fear, my only hope comes from the promise that they will one day pass, as John said they would.

The thought of John reminded me that I had to get out of bed. I groaned lightly and fell back onto my pillow, still wrapped within my quilt. I hadn't had a decent night's sleep in over a month and could feel it taking its toll on me physically and emotionally. I rested easy the week after hearing from John, and wondered if another letter from him would put my mind at rest once again.

I glanced up at the window on the other side of my room, the simple white curtains billowing slightly from the cool morning air, a crack in the seal. Day light had flooded my room with a clean, crisp light and I wondered exactly what time it was; mother would not let me sleep beyond eight, but Tabitha, our house servant, would let me sleep until nine. Both of them knew how little sleep I had been getting, but that still wasn't cause enough to let me rest during the day.

Pulling myself out of bed, I wandered over to the window and opened the curtains, letting the light wash over my face. From what I could see, it was just past seven, the sun not yet above the trees, and I smiled that for once neither Tabitha nor my mother had to wake me by quieting my screams.

I dressed quickly, ignoring my mirror which hung on the vanity. I knew that my face was proof of my hellish nights and I did not want to see the dark circles that trapped my eyes or my pale complexion. Just because I felt as if I died every night, I did not want to be reminded that I looked like it.

Making my way down stairs, I descended another set of stone steps to our kitchen and I found Tabitha working alone. She was humming to herself, an old, unfamiliar tune, and she jumped slightly at my sudden appearance.

"Dear me, child!" She said, a hand over her heart, "I swear to the Lord above, I will never be able to handle the way all you people come in and out this place..."

I smiled, sitting down at the worn oak table and pulled at a fresh loaf of bread, still warm from the oven. "I'm sorry, Tabitha. I didn't mean to scare you."

She smiled, warm and sincere. "I know that, child, and here." She moved over to a pot where some oats sat over the fire. She poured me a bowl and placed it in front of me. "Eat this. It will keep you full until late this afternoon."

I dipped my bread in the oatmeal and popped it into my mouth. I loved Tabitha, and in a strange way, I considered her more of my mother than my actual one. At sixty-two, she was almost as old as my grandfather but claimed to be too stubborn that Death had left her alone for fear of a fight. My parents had hired her when they came to Massachusetts, she having earned her freedom in the South, her accent alone enough to prove that. I had never heard the story of how she had gained her freedom, but Tabitha never liked to talk about it. But at the age of forty-four, she came to work here and has helped raise me and almost every one of my siblings. She was tall, not much shorter than myself, and her hair was always wrapped in some simple turban, as she called it. It was a great contrast to our normal clothing, seeing as they almost always were some beautiful color such as orange or yellow. She was beautiful, and I always wondered what she looked like when she was young, but I knew that even then she must have been stunning. Even now, the touch of her calloused hands or even the look of her warm brown eyes was enough to either comfort me or plague me with my own guilt. She was a wonderful woman, and I did everything I could to make her life here easy.

"How did you sleep, little one?"

I smiled at the nickname, given to me after I was born. Only she and my grandfather called me by that, probably because I didn't like it when anyone else did.

"Poorly, again..." I frowned, remembering. "This time I dreamed about John. He was dead...and it was my fault."

Tabitha stopped mixing more dough and wiped her hands on her apron. "Oh Amelia, you mustn' believe either of those lies..." I chewed, nodding. I didn't really feel like talking about it. One of the best remedies I found was distraction, so I had busied myself daily with everyday chores such as chopping firewood or cleaning. Still, Tabitha worked quietly as she poured some hot water into a cup and then wrapped a few dried herbs into a small cloth. I watched as she tied it delicately with string and then dropped it into the water.

"Drink this." She said. "It will help give you a little more energy for the day, and fight off this damn chill..." I smiled and sipped the tea, burning my lip.

"And keep eating!" She commanded, waving a floured finger at me. "I swear girl, I could snap you in half."

I smiled and tore another piece of bread and dipped it in my oatmeal, chewing slowly.

"Don't think I didn't see that..." Tabitha said, not looking up from her dough.

I laughed lightly as I heard steps on the stone stairs. My mother appeared in the doorway, wrapping her shawl a little tighter, and upon seeing me, she smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"Didn't sleep well?" She asked, noticing my appearance.

I nodded, taking another bite of the meal.

My mother was very beautiful. I had inherited most of my features from her, aside from my hair and eyes, and today her pale blonde hair was twisted into a simple bun at the nape of her neck and her dark blue eyes were a stunning offset for her porcelain complexion. Even the crinkles around her eyes and mouth seemed elegant, but Helen Brightmore was known more for her looks than her kindness. Driven, intelligent, and graceful, my mother was the epitome of everything a woman should be. When I was young, she would get so angry with me for ruining dress after dress by playing in the forest with my brothers, and eventually, she stopped trying to get me to act like a "proper lady", much to her disappointment I'm sure. There had been very few times when my mother had told me she was proud of me, and although I knew she loved me, that was mostly what it was, just knowledge...

"Amelia, your grandfather needs more firewood in his room, if you would be so kind to split a few extra logs for him this morning." She said, opening a crate and removing two candles from inside. I swallowed another piece of bread and said. "Yes, of course." She smiled at me and then set the candles on the table, gently stroking a piece of my hair.

"Can I braid it for you?" She asked softly. I nodded and pulled out the ribbon that held it in a low ponytail. I knew my mother tried, our relationship having been severely strained after my return from Redgrave, and even though it wasn't wonderful to begin with, I wondered if it would ever get better.

When she finished, she placed a small kiss on the top of my head and then head back upstairs with her candles. I sighed, picked up my now empty bowl, and scrapped out the sticky, leftover residue from the oats into the fire. "She tries, Amelia. I know you know, but a relationship is only as strong as the work put into it." Tabitha said, taking my bowl from me.

"I know..." I said, grabbing my brothers old work coat from the peg next to the doorway and then I headed outside, not in the mood for a lecture. I wandered over to the front of the house where I wood pile sat tucked between two trees, a stack of un-split logs just beside it. It all needed to be broken before heavier snow began to fall, and I didn't want to do it in the middle of December. I was thankful that today only a few inches littered the ground...

Picking up the axe, I set a log on an old large stump, and swung, satisfied as a resounding crack split the air. Again and again I spilt log after log, but instead of distraction, the mindless work let me think of other things.

My letter from Redgrave had not been kind, I knew this much, but I wondered what exactly the headmistress had told my mother. Whatever it was, my mother assumed the worst of it was true, although the rumors of my "scandalous" affairs were exactly that; just rumors. The night that had caused my expulsion was one that I wished often I could change, mostly because of the turmoil I had put Lillian through. She had almost been raped that night, on the cause of my getting her a little too drunk off of wine given to me by some of my older brother Andrew's friends. She was cornered by a man whose name was still difficult recall...Thomas, I believed...after we had been separated. I had heard her screaming and even though I don't know how I found them, when I did, I did everything I could to protect her. He didn't harm her, torn her dress and roughed her up a bit, but I was more than thankful that her virtue had not been ruined. Even more so, I know that the emotional damage that would have caused would have been unbearable, but instead I attacked him, apparently breaking his nose and at one point I was ready to shoot him with his own pistol had some soldiers not grabbed us before I fired. After that, everything blurred together, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up in my bed back at Redgrave, the headmistress telling me that I had been expelled.

I slammed the axe down on another piece of wood, angry with myself at the memory. After my father died, I turned to my brothers for comfort, causing a rift in mine and my mother's relationship at ten years old. Up until Redgrave, I was rebellious, rude, and in some ways cruel to my mother, but she too had treated me less than kindly. Now, I was angry with myself for making it even worse, but angry still that my mother chose to believe the lies and rumors of our neighbors than believing me when it came to my reputation.

I paused mid swing as I suddenly heard a different sound coming through the trees. My sudden stop in motion caused me to stumble slightly and I let the axe fall to my side, using it to catch myself. Looking up the road, I saw a man approaching on horseback, bundled against the cold. As he drew closer, I leaned the axe against a tree and walked towards the road so that he could see me, cautious at first, so that if it was a wandering solider I would be in safe distance to run into the house should he begin to threaten us. I looked at the sky, the sun now shinning down almost directly above us. A few hours had passed since I started, and I was thankful suddenly to take a break.

The man pulled his horse to a trot and then stopped in front of me, removing his hat. He wasn't dressed like a soldier, but the deadliest man I knew didn't dress like one either...

"Good morning." he said, smiling. "I'm looking for your mistress, Ms. Helen Brightmore."

I smiled back at him, amused. "Well, you've found one of them." I said. "I'm Amelia Brightmore, her daughter."

The man dismounted, and then bowed slightly, obviously embarrassed. "Please, forgive me." He said. "I did not know. If I may be so bold, you've grown considerably since I saw you last. I did not recognize you."

I gave a small bow in return, confused. "All is well, sir, but may ask who you are?"

The man smiled and extended his hand. "I'm an old friend of your father's, and a recent friend of your brother's. My name is Samuel Adams."

I took his hand and shook it, smiling up at him. "It's a pleasure to meet you sir, but I must apologize for I don't remember you at all."

He smiled at this and said, "It's no problem, for you were barely seven years old the last time I was here."

"My brother said that I should meet you." I said, releasing his hand. "I had no idea that I would meet you here. I was going to ask for an audience then next time I arrived in Boston, but it seems you saved me the trouble."

I invited him into the house and after tethering his horse, I escorted him inside, taking his coat and his hat and laying them on the table in our drawing room. I called for Tabitha and asked her to bring us some tea. As we waited, Mr. Adams glanced around the room, observing.

"Not much has changed since Walter was alive. He would be proud of how well kept it is."

I smiled at the compliment and sat in a chair near the fire. He was a plain man, really, but dignified in his demeanor. I could tell, even by the way he stood, that all he had to say was well calculated and thought out. Every word he said, every movement he made, was all to make a point. He sighed suddenly, and put his hand behind his back.

"Your mother, Helen, is she here?"

I nodded. "Would you like me to fetch her?" I asked, confused.

"There's no need, Amelia."

We both turned, startled by her presence in the doorway of the drawing room. Her face was set in a familiar controlled rage that I was all too familiar with, and it was directed primarily at our guest. Mr. Adams smiled and bowed, but my mother remained rigid.

"Helen, it's a pleasure to see you again."

Unmoved, my mother entered the room, coming to stand near the fire. "I wish I could say the same, Mr. Adams..."

I blushed, confused. Mr. Adams smiled and said, "I know that I'm not truly welcome here, but please, don't blame Amelia, for she didn't know. I merely came to relay a message and make an introduction."

We both looked at him at that and I stood curious. He turned to me and said, "I received a letter from your brother late last night, asking that should I ever have a chance to meet you, I should do so. I realized that this morning I needed to visit a friend of mine who lived not far from here, so I figured starting my morning a little earlier wouldn't hurt." He paused, opening his coat as he walked towards me. "John also sent this..." He pulled out a small folded letter from his pocket. "I did not open it," Mr. Adams said, "as it's addressed to you and to your mother."

I took the letter from him, my hands shaking from excitement. "Would you mind if I read it?" I asked. "Not at all." He replied, and I quickly unfolded it. I could see my mother pull Mr. Adams aside as I sat down to read the letter. Her tone was hushed, but strict, but I would worry about her manners towards Mr. Adams in a moment.

_My dearest family,_

_ I do not have long and therefore I apologize that this letter is so brief. I write only to tell you that I am still stationed at Fort St. Jean. I arrived here safely almost a month ago and things were quiet for some time as men began to come into the camp, only minor fights occurring every so often. We had a brief skirmish with the English almost a week ago, my first battle here, and I took a minor wound to the shoulder. A small infection has started in the wound, leaving me weak and bed ridden with a fever, but the surgeons say that it should pass as long as I keep it clean and get my rest. I have high hopes in my recovery and I pray that this letter doesn't leave you in disheartened spirits. I have enough strength now to write, but that is at most what I can do._

_ With all my love,_

_ John_

I set the letter down in my lap, my mind whirling. Injured? _Infection_? I was overjoyed that John had wrote, but I was less than pleased to discover that he was injured. To make it worse, his wound, however minor it was, had become infected. That alone was enough to set me on edge; any type of infection, no matter the injury or the scenario, was always a cause for worry.

"What did the letter say, dear?"

I looked up towards my mother, both her and Mr. Adams were watching me closely. I wondered if my face betrayed my mix of emotions.

"John's been injured." I said. "He says that he was shot in the shoulder and has been sick and out of battle due to infection."

Both my mother and Mr. Adams seemed startled by the news. I was surprised that John hadn't mentioned it in his letter to Mr. Adams prior, but I suppose he figured that it would be heard from us personally. I looked at the letter again, checking to see if he had dated it. Depending on when it was wrote, John's condition could be drastically different.

"This letter is dated only two days past." I looked up at Mr. Adams, surprised. "I know it's only a day's ride to Fort St. Jean, it sits just outside of Montreal, but most couriers would only have been able to get this here a week after it was written, at the very earliest. How did you receive it so quickly?"

Mr. Adams cleared his throat, obviously unsure how to answer. "I'm not exactly sure how much Johnathon has told you, but let's just say that a man in my position has...special privileges in regards to passing along information." I raised an eyebrow, but I still wasn't sure if I understood. Mother merely seemed confused. Mr. Adams was a prominent figure for politics in for the Colonies, but his aloof answer made me wonder if there was something more that he did. John must have the same "privileges" since he was working for Mr. Adams, but if he was still being used by him, then why was he out fighting and away from Boston?

"Perhaps you could go and visit him?" Mr. Adams suggested. "I'm sure a visit from you would do wonders for his morale. How often he spoke of you is merely a reflection of his affection, I'm guessing." I rose, excited by the idea, but mother quickly shot it down.

"Mr. Adams, please, I know that my daughter is...very independent of traditional ideals, but I will not allow her to ride, _unescorted_, to a potentially dangerous army encampment only to discover that her brother may not very well be alive."

I bristled at her harsh words. "John isn't dead yet, mother..."

Mr. Adams too seemed shocked by my mother's lack of emotion, but his response made my respect for him grow and left both of us practically speechless.

"Helen, please, there was once a time when you called me Sam, and I would prefer that you call me such again. As for Amelia, you're very right, she _is_ an independent woman, and therefore, it should be her choice whether she goes or not."

I was shocked, and also thrilled by his idea. Very few people had the audacity to stand up to my mother, and by the look on her face, I'm sure she was just as surprised by his response as I was. Most people thought I was strange for my lack of traditional values, my willingness to use a gun, and my skill the in work designated for men, and I wondered what had caused a man such as he to think that I was capable of handling myself.

My mother seethed. "Mr. Adams. Sometimes the best choices are made for you, whether they are given out of protection or out of discipline, we should follow the laws and guidelines of our protectors. Who are we to say what is best for ourselves?"

Mr. Adams frowned, moving away from the fire. "A rebellion against authority is not always an insult, Helen, but a cry against injustice. Sometimes, even children need to experience their own mistakes in order to learn a lesson, but more often than not, we our own greatest rulers. How can we live under another rule of inequality when we all of us fall short of our own expectations?"

I smiled, realizing that the conversation was no longer about me and said, "I appreciate your complement, Mr. Adams, but I have to admit that I wouldn't want to stay at the camp by myself. I will go, but I'll have one of our house servants accompany me."

I knew exactly who I would want to come as well. Tabitha would be able to help treat John's wound and possibly clear it of infection. Besides, Tabitha, although she was an older woman, commanded respect from almost everyone, young and old, male or female. Most men wouldn't be so bold to approach her or myself if she was at my side.

"Perfect." Mr. Adams said, a triumphant smile on his face. "If you leave tomorrow, I can have the same man who brought me this letter escort you back to the camp. If John's boasting of your musket skills are true, then I have no doubt in your capabilities, but the roads are dangerous now with war. It would give me a personal sense of peace if you would allow me to provide an escort. Expect him here not long after dawn."

"Thank you, Sam." I said, and he smiled, bowing slightly.

Mother glared at us, her furry barely contained, and she brushed past us to stand in the hallway.

"Mr. Adams, you accomplished what you came to do and I believe you have now overstayed your welcome. If you would be so kind..." She gestured to the door and I blushed out of embarrassment again, but Sam didn't seem shaken.

Grabbing his hat from the table as he passed, he gave a small bow to my mother, and then I followed him out the door. As he mounted his horse, he turned to me one last time and said, "John told me about your stand at Lexington. Very brave, Miss Brightmore, and it seems to me that this revolution could use more people with your tenacity. John also mentioned, briefly, that you wished to help if you could?"

I nodded, drawing my coat close against the chill.

"Very well. I will admit that being a woman your choices are limited, but I might be able to find something for you. Until next, Amelia." He smiled, tipped his hat, and stirred his horse away from the house.

I stood there a moment, unsure of how to react. I was overjoyed at the idea of seeing John, but almost frightened about what this new friend could ask me to do. It seems that he thought highly of me, most likely due to my brother's boasting, and I worried that I would disappoint. Still, I smiled as I turned back to the house, knowing that whatever choice I made in the future, whether it be about the revolution, my independence, or my way of living, I was the one who would make it.


	10. Reunion - October 1775 - Part II

I blinked at the early morning sun with a powerful disdain that did nothing but seem to make it burn brighter. My irritated mood wasn't helped as I watched the sun rise, peaking just high enough through the trees as we rode to fall into my tightly squeezed eyes. Hateful, I pulled the blanket I was wrapped in tighter around my body, trying to ignore the annoying source of light and the early morning chill.

Tabitha sat next to me, wrapped in an old winter coat and draped in multiple dresses. She was focused, driving our two horses at a pace that was unnatural for their age, their small clouds of breath their only protest against the speed.

I had been up since three in the morning, having gone to bed a little after one. Tabitha and I had the house in an uproar trying to throw together everything we would need for our week long stay at the Fort St. Jean encampment. On top of that, we needed to prepare to leave the house in a manageable state for the duration of our absence. Still, we had the wagon packed, loaded, and the horses fed before midnight, but still had to rise early to wait for our escort, whom neither of us knew nothing about. Sam, or Mr. Adams as my mother called him, had left without describing who this escort was, what he looked like, or when he would come. He gave a vague reference to his arrival sometime after dawn, but we were unhappily surprised to find him on our doorstep long before it. I didn't care to remember his name at that ungodly hour, but he did warn us that because of the necessity of his duty, he was required to return to the encampment as quickly as possible. Therefore, we would be making the usual two day trip in just under one. It was possible; a twenty-six hour ride if you stopped only to eat, but the thought of actually attempting it was unappealing. Tabitha warned the man that we, being women and in no ready ability to travel that quickly, would have to split with him after no more than twenty hours. We physically could not make that trip together and with all of our supplies that quickly. He agreed, but he would set the pace for as long as he was with us. I possibly could have done the ride in that time by myself, but I didn't really care to try it alone. The excitement of seeing John sooner the only possible reason why I would attempt it. Still, we had been on the wagon for almost four hours already and had made decent time, but naturally, I was mentally, physically, and emotionally exhausted.

"It's about time you woke..." Tabitha said, slapping the reigns to keep the horses at a decent trot. "It's your turn to drive; the suns above the trees. At next crossroads we'll switch."

I huffed, unhappy by the deal I had made in haste yesterday evening. Tabitha was leading our escort through a quick short cut to a more main road, but that road was quickly ending it would soon me my turn to lead. Usually, I wouldn't have to worry about the horses too much, seeing as they were used to the trip between Boston and their home, but since they had never truly been north beyond the Massachusetts territory, I had to direct them.

After about another half an hour, I took the reins from Tabitha and began to drive, picking up the speed only a little as the escort trotted a few yards ahead. Just fast enough to make good time, but not fast enough to raise any suspicion worthy of stopping should we happen to pass any Red Coats.

The ride was easy, even with the quickly increasing amount of snow, and it gave my mind a chance to wander, and for the first time in a month, it wandered away from nightmares or worries of John to something far more interesting. My memories of Connor had a strange way of always creeping into my mind when I least expected it, suddenly placing me in a far off day dream or leaving me with distracted questions such as where he could be or what he was doing. Those same thoughts crawled back into my mind, and as much as I tried, I didn't do anything to try and push them away like I usually tried to do.

He was interesting, far more exciting than any man I had ever met, and yet I knew dwelling on him did nothing. I refused to say that I had feelings for him; doing so was ridiculous for I barely knew the man, but I couldn't deny the strange tingling sensation that I had felt when I had last touched his hand. I may had just been excitable from rescuing Lillian's brothers, and although I still refused to believe it was something more, I wondered if it would be the same way if I ever saw him again. That alone gave me enough pause and I laughed lightly, careful not wake Tabitha who was asleep next to me. The last time I thought I would never see Connor again I found him in the middle of a battle field, naturally the most obvious place to meet an acquaintance, and although I felt we had built a strange friendship from our small random meetings, I didn't believe it would never have a chance to grow beyond that. This was enough to push aside any thoughts about unwanted feelings. Lillian would call it fate, or maybe a coincidence, but I truly hated that word. God's plan for the world was strange and beyond my ability to know, and therefore, everything that happened I truly believed was planned for a reason. It always left me with a strange mixture of hope and doubt thinking that my two random meetings with Connor may have in fact been for a bigger purpose, perhaps one that I still had a part to play in...

I shook my head and sighed, slapping the reigns down a little harder to keep up the pace. I couldn't deny that I _was_ indeed interested in him and by far the most mysterious person I had ever known. My thoughts and daydreams wandered mostly around the idea of who Connor was and why he acted the way he did. I had no leads, no possible ideas, but I wondered what a man of such a specific skill set used those skills for. The revolution? Maybe, but something still nagged at me, wondering what part a Native would have in helping the same people who have been trying to push them from their land since we arrived...

Tabitha and I eventually parted with our escort after a long and tedious ride through the northern part of the colonies, leaving us with a makeshift map to the encampment, so we stopped for the evening to get some sleep and eat. Famished, I quickly set up a small fire and cleared some of our supplies out from the wagon to lay out Tabitha and I's bed rolls. I let the horses loose to wander and eat what little hay we brought and quickly prepared a meager meal. After eating a simple stew and more oatmeal, I crawled into my make shift bed and pulling my blankets close to keep out the chill, I fell asleep, dreaming of nothing.

Awaking just as early the next day, but feeling slightly more rested, I helped Tabitha quickly load the wagon and then we set out, a little less than half a day left of our journey. The excitement of seeing John in less than ten hours made it almost impossible to fall asleep, but I eventually found myself asleep on Tabitha's shoulder, rocked to sleep by the steady groove of the road. My dreams were a mix of reality and fantasy, the noises and lights of the real world dancing with the creations of my own mind, and I would wake periodically to try and decide what was true. Eventually, Tabitha nudged me off her shoulder, easing me awake.

"Amelia, we're here child."

I rubbed my eyes and looked up, seeing as what looked to be sharp peaks of pilled snow off in the distance, but I quickly realized they were tents and other covered wagons. Not long after, we were greeted by a few soldiers who sat near the road, asking us our business and so forth. I explained who we were looking for and that we wished to help care for the wounded during our duration, and after being haggled out of a small donation to 'the cause', we were lead into the camp. Directed to where the other women who followed the encampment were and we parted ways, and were met again by a few women who had looked as if they had been following the outpost since the summer; worn, tried, and cold.

Making our way through the snow, much deeper than back at the homestead, I eventually hopped out of the wagon to help guide the horses to a small space between two tents where the women told us a small family had just left, their son having been killed by the cold. Ignoring the thought, I smiled as a few of the other women gave of curious passing glances, but others were more friendly and helped us set up our tent on our wagon, tether the horses, and unload our materials. It was barely evening by the time everything was complete, and I left Tabitha alone with the other women, who I tentatively trusted to Tabitha's care, to go and wander the encampment, only pausing briefly to ask for directions to where the infirmary was. Thankfully, where the women were staying was right next to the medical tents, seeing as most women helped to treat the wounded and to take care of the dead. I'm sure they offered some less noble services as well, but I decided to focus on the more needed tasks they completed...

The sun was setting, and I doubted that I would find John before it got dark, and I wasn't quite comfortable leaving Tabitha by herself. Most tents were closed as well, making it difficult to know who was inside, and after a half hour, I gave up and returned to the wagon. Tabitha had supper waiting and I ate, very unladylike as Tabitha pointed out, and I quickly crawled into bed, worn and ready for a good night of rest. I fell asleep quickly despite the deep cold, the night surprisingly peaceful, and I silently prayed for John's safety, my own words lulling me to sleep.

What rest I did find was disturbed by the sharp sound of gun fire early the next morning, causing Tabitha to bolt upright out of fright and me to merely moan and pull my blanket over my head, mashing my face into the dress I was using as a pillow. Rising, I stuck my still foggy eyes and clouded mind out of the tent to discover that a brief skirmish was underway between the British and the Rebels on a hill a few miles away, the women around us in a frantic hurry to ready themselves for tending to the wounded should there be any.

I quickly dressed, pulling on my two pairs of wool socks, my boots, my last clean dress over my dirty one, an old coat and I headed outside after making sure that Tabitha would be able to suffice on her own. It seemed now would be as good a time as any to search for John again. I had left a scarf and a worn pair of fingerless gloves in my pockets and pulled them one as I walked, wrapping my scarf around my ears to make a headband and contain my unruly hair. With the camp primarily at work, I did my best to stay out of the way and look for John. Eventually I ended up back where I had left off the previous day, but an officer in a dingy gray and blue uniform walked through the area. Getting his attention, I quickly jogged up to him and asked him if he knew where Private John Brightmore was being held.

"Brightmore...Brightmore..." He thought. "Oh, yes...Johnny. He's down a ways yet, near the far side of the medical area towards the outskirts, but his tent seems to have the most visitors... It won't be hard to miss."

He left me then, returning to whatever duty he was supposed to be doing, and I wondered what he meant about John's tent. John had always been a charmer and very easy to make friends, but I had a sinking suspicion that these visitors were not John's war buddies... Wandering a ways down, I quickly noticed an increase in the number of women in this area of the camp, all young, and primarily pretty, and eventually, that one tent had more than one nurse enter, and then after a few minutes, another would enter and a different one would leave. Curious, I wandered up to the tent and pulled the flap back.

"Quick love! Close that flap! You're letting out all the heat!"

I peered inside to where John lay on a makeshift cot, shirt off, shoulder wrapped and covered by a blanket. Three nurses stood around, looking at me with judgmental eyes, and I watched as John's face went from his notorious flirtatious smile to one of pure joy.

"Amelia!"

I smiled broadly and quickly ran to his side to wrap him in a loving, but gentle hug. The other women seemed confused and slightly upset by my sudden appearance, but I didn't care. My brother was here, safe, and in my company. My heart, although fluttering from excitement, finally seemed at peace.

"Excuse me, ladies, but if you could leave me for a while, I don't think I'll be needing anything more." He smiled while he said it, what was left of his English accent just barely noticeable, and even though the women smiled at him as they brushed past, they left me with hostile glares. I laughed lightly at the idea of them thinking I was one of John's possible pursuits, and John quickly wrapped me in a larger, more powerful hug, distracting me from my thoughts.

"Amelia, what I are you doing here!? I didn't know you were coming!"

I smiled at him, sitting down lightly on the corner of his bed. "I received your letter and had no time to reply. It was given to me by your employer personally and the idea of coming to see you was prompted by Mr. Adams. Tabitha and I made the journey in two days to come and see if you were well and to hopefully raise your spirits."

John smiled up at me, propping himself up on his bad shoulder. "Ah, sis, you shouldn't have! A surprise visit from the only person I've ever loved more than myself."

I laughed, raising an eyebrow. "I thought you said that you barely had any energy to write? Now you can rest on your shoulder as if nothing has happened? Believe me, I'm overjoyed by the improvement, but I would prefer that you don't write such cryptic and depressing letters and then prove them wrong."

John shrugged, falling onto his back. "It still hurts, more than I would care for, and I will admit that the way I use it doesn't help it much. The wound is still infected and although my fever broke two days ago, I have yet to be released back to the field because of it. I can move more than before, but I can't walk still. I get to dizzy and fainted the last few times I've tried. I can sit up with relative ease and put more pressure onto the muscles there, but that is about as much I can do."

I nodded, observing his bandages. They were, although clean, still showing signs of an open wound. Blood was seeping through the layers, leaving John's shoulder with a strange light blossom of red.

"It's a pretty fancy set up though, you know?" He said, smiling. "I will admit, I feel bad at times about my special treatment, but when you work for a man like Sam, you get better attention than others."

"That explains a lot." I said, taking a glance around the tent. "This is incredibly clean for an army medical tent. I remeber hearing stories of Guy's time in the medical ward and I had to admit I was worried."

John shook his head, closing his eyes and resting a little. "I really do feel bad at times." He said, taking a breath. "There are men out there who should have a space like this more than me. My injurgy would be able to heal with time on its own."

"May I see?" I asked, walking to the door of the tent to grab some clean snow to rub between my hands to help sterilize them, a piece of medical advice given to me by Tabitha after my experience at Lexington. When I returned, John had already propped himself upright and I moved to his back to unwrap the bandage. He flinched slightly as the cloth pulled at his skin, and even though I was still no champion to the sight of blood, I could observe his wound without too much of a thought to vomit.

The wound was healing, I could see that, but the infection had caused it to puss and become inflamed around the inner most edges. Touching it lightly, John grimaced and I apologized, deciding what would be the best option for him.

"Tabitha would be able to clean this properly, John." I said, rewrapping the wound. "We've brought clean bandages and some herbs that will easily take care of the infection."

John nodded, waiting until I finished wrapping his shoulder to try and move towards the edge of his cot.

"I'll come with you to see her." He said, trying to rise.

I shook my head, motioning for him to lay back down with my hand lightly on his chest. "John, you just told me you couldn't walk. Why would I let you go see Tabitha? I'll bring her to you." I smiled, and so did he, and with that I left, kissing him lightly on the cheek, and then practically running back to the wagon from sheer happiness.

Finding Tabitha, we quickly gathered clean supplies and her medicinal herbs and I lead her back to the tent. The other females had not returned and I was thankful for it primarily for Tabitha's sake. Their reunion brought a new source of joy to my heart, Tabitha's light tears of happiness causing both John and I to choke up as well, the love in his small space almost too much to contain.

John and I bantered as Tabitha heated water and mashed herbs, listening to us retell our versions of childhood stories, John's lack of combat training, and his joy and pride in fighting for freedom, and my lack of news from other family members and of Boston.

"John, you wouldn't happen to know someone by the name of Connor, would you?"

I paused, surprising myself by my sudden words. I had wondered, only very briefly as John retold stories of his life in the army, if John would have met Connor, but I didn't intended to ask him. John hissed lightly as Tabitha laid a hot cloth over his wound, drawing out the infection, but he shook his head.

"Well, maybe." He said, releasing a breath as he relaxed. "I've met a few, but if I knew his last name I might be able to be more of a help."

I thought about this a moment and realized I actually had no idea of what Connor's last name was, or if he actually had one. He had a tribal name, but his use of English made me wonder if, when had been christened with another, if he had received a last name as well. How strange that I had never thought about it before...

"I don't actually know..." I said.

Tabitha raised an eyebrow, removing the cloth to put some herbs into John's wound. "Connor? Who's this? A new potential suitor?"

I blushed, shaking my head. "Because I've had so many..." I said sarcastically. I hadn't told anyone about Connor aside from Lillian who had asked me about him after their brief meeting. Not even John knew, and his face showed a protective curiosity that I had seen only a few times before.

"But no, Connor, uh... I met him in Boston. Merely a new acquaintance, but he has...military experience." I paused at my lack of a better explanation. "I was merely curious if you had met him."

John shook his head. "Well, seeing as I only know his first name and nothing about what he looks like, or where he's from, or any other useful information about him, probably not."

I glared at him, while he merely laughed, Tabitha hiding her laugh behind a smile. I could easily describe him, but I was beginning to realize just how unlikely it was that John had met him, or even seen him for that matter. There were many outposts, many soldiers, and many men with the same name, and I wasn't even sure Connor was an actual solider.

Thankfully, the subject was dropped after this, and we continued to talk about other events until John's shoulder was clean and the sun was beginning to set. Tabitha and I left briefly to eat, neither one of us having realized just how hungry we really were until we returned to the wagon, but we returned to John later that evening just before dusk. We stayed a little while longer, having John sip on some tea that would help him sleep and keep a fever from possibly returning. After a time, John fell asleep and Tabitha I left, walking slowly through the snow arm in arm, both of our spirits higher than they had been in months. Soldiers, women, and men of command passed us by without so much of a second thought. The moon was out, full and bright, hidden only by simple wisps of clouds. Its light was eerie, almost too surreal for the world that we were living in; a deceptively sweet ambience. Tabitha and I said nothing, both content with silence and just enjoying one another's company, but it was suddenly broken by a voice that left me frozen in the snow.

"Amelia?"

Disbelief flooded through me as I turned in one fluid motion to see a figure, dressed in white, coming towards me. His white cloak was hard to distinguish amongst the darkness and snow, but his walk was so familiar to me, and I felt a sudden rush of heat rise to my face as he lowered his hood, his dark eyes holding my shocked expression.

"Connor." I said, my surprise written all over my face, and he gave me a crooked smile as he stopped in front of me. It was silent a moment as I tried to gather my disbelief. _God must have a sense of humor..._ I thought _Why else would he standing here?_

Tabitha stood next to me, obviously waiting for an introduction as she bounced her curious brown eyes from my face to Connor's. I gathered my thoughts and then once they were collected, only managed to pour them out in one chaotic moment, leaving me more red than before.

"Um, uh...Connor! Why are- what are you doing here?" I asked.

He gave me another small smile and light laugh hid behind his words, his eyes bright as he spoke.

"That seems to be a common question between you and me."

I smiled, catching the joke of our awkward meetings, and blushed harder, positive that I would burst into flames if I turned any more red. Tabitha coughed, a little too obviously, and I jumped, embarrassed by my poor manners.

"Ah, um, Connor, this is Tabitha Crane, she lives with and works for my family. Tabitha, this is Connor..."

I realized in that moment just how strange it was not knowing Connor's last name, and I couldn't help the disappointment when Connor didn't fill in the blank. The two shook hands, Tabitha sizing Connor up in her knowing gaze, and although Connor didn't squirm like other males who had happened to meet her, Connor smiled lightly and bowed, giving Tabitha all the respect she deserved while still acknowledging her place of position as my chaperone.

"Hello." He said simply, releasing her hand.

"So, you're Connor?" Tabitha said, placing her hands on her hips, protectively raising her chin as if to get a better look at him. I blushed and gave Tabitha a small glare that I'm positive Connor saw. His eyebrows rose slightly, his eyes darting from me and then back to Tabitha.

"Yes?" He seemed confused, and I was positive I was now melting the snow where I stood.

Tabitha smiled, a mischievous feature that I seen as a young girl whenever I danced with a another young man at a ball or party.

"Yes, well you certainly aren't what I expected. Then again, Amelia didn't give us much to go off of..."

Connor seemed surprised by this, and his eyes fell on my face. I smiled sheepishly, and although a playful emotion ran across his face, a serious look in his eyes is what held my attention.

"You talk about me?"

"No." I said, a little more defensively than I would have liked. "Well, I've mentioned you. But never more than once!" I paused, "Or, I meant to say, I've only mentioned you once. Only just recently...to my brother..."

I looked away, so sure of my tomato red face as I stumbled over my words, but when I looked back at him, Connor was still watching me, this time with eyes that held a softer edge, so different than anything I had seen him look at me before.

"No need to worry." Tabitha said, stepping into the conversation. "Amelia refused to admit any personal details other than your name. Aside from that, she couldn't, or perhaps, she chose not to tell us anything more."

I nodded, and looked back to Connor who seemed slightly relieved by this, his shoulders relaxing, and I was curious as to why my speaking of him would make him so defensive.

Regardless, Connor was suddenly met by yet another man who seemed to wade through the darkness like a ghost.

"Connor, my boy, I have some information for you. You need to get back to work in Boston-" He stopped, seeing Tabitha and myself standing nearby, and the man stood a little straighter.

"Ah, excuse me." He said, bowing a little. "I didn't realize you were in the middle of a conversation."

The man was older, at least the age of Tabitha, but he seemed more worn, as if every weight of the world rested upon his shoulers, and his dark face was lined with focus and sorrow.

Connor strainghtend back up, respectful of this man, who he quickly introducted to us as Achilles Davenport. A part of me wondered if this man was Connor father, but something told me that wasn't true.

"It's a pleasure to meet you both." Achilles said, shaking both our hands. "I didn't realize Connor had any friends."

I was shocked by his abrassive language, but Connor gave him a sarcastic smile and crossed his arms infront of his shoulders definitely.

"I have plenty of friends."

"Not outside of Boston you don't." Achilles said, "And definitely not any as charming as these two."

I smiled at both of them, but Connor rolled his eyes. Achilles then smiled up at Tabitha and said, "I don't know what you two ladies are doing this evening, but may I so bold to ask if we may escort you wherever you were headed? I feel a change in company would be healthy for this old man."

Tabitha smiled, I blushed and cast a small glance at Connor, and he almost seemed ready to protest, until Tabitha replied, "That would be so kind, thank you."

Achilles offered his arm to Tabitha and they lead the way, each one describing memories from their past and curious if they knew anyone from the South. Connor and I walked a few yards behind, neither of us touching, and we had yet to say anything.

"I'm sorry to take you away from your work." I said softly, still not looking at him. "I didn't realize you we here on...business."

The word felt heavy on my tongue; I had no idea what business Connor did but I wasn't quite sure I wanted to find out.

Connor shook his head, looking up at the moon. I found myself really looking him in that moment, absent mindly tracing the lines of his face, noticing how the shadows made him appear not only mysterious, but incredibly handsome. I blushed, realizing my staring, and I looked forward.

"You are not interrupting anything." Connor said. "I was looking for information, and I found it."

"I take it then you'll be leaving soon then?"

A part of me hoped he would deny it, but he unfortunately nodded, meeting my gaze. "Yes, Achilles and I leave tomorrow, at least, I would assume so."

I looked forward at the back of the man ahead of me and asked a question that I quickly wished I hadn't.

"Is he your father?"

Connor stiffened, his jaw tight, and he replied with a short, simple, 'No.'.

I turned away, embarrassed, but Connor continued after a moment. "I do care for Achilles, and although he sometimes treats me like a child, there are times when I treat him as if he were my true father."

This caught me off guard and I attentively asked, "What happened to your 'true' father?"

I had stepped on personal territory again for Connor stiffened and looked down at me with a look that dared me to ask again. Instead of blowing off the question though, Connor merely looked forward and replied, "He lives in Boston."

I nodded, dropping the subject, and we walked in silence for a moment. I realized after a few minutes that we had come to trail far behind Tabitha and Achilles, Connor and I walking slowly towards the outskirts of the camp. I was leading him this time, and I was enjoying the change in tasks. After a moment, Connor asked, "Is Tabitha your slave?"

I bristled at this and said, "No. Tabitha is NOT my slave."

Connor looked at me, surprised by my defensive reaction, and I glared up at him. "Tabitha has been free since before I was born. My family hired her as an extra hand to help with me and my four brothers. She has every liberty to leave at any time, but we love her, and she us, and therefore she chooses to stay."

Connor only nodded, but I think my explanation was far beyond what he wanted to hear. We walked in awkward silence for a moment until he asked a different question, my anger at his assumptive question finally dying down.

"Is your brother here?"

I nodded, looking up at him. "Yes. He was wounded in the shoulder and was fighting an infection. Tabitha and I came to see if we could find him and offer what little services we could to the camp as nurses."

Connor smiled, "How noble."

I couldn't tell if he was joking or not, but I smiled anyway. "I love my brother dearly, as I'm sure you know by now." I paused, looking up at the moon. "I would do anything for him."

The moon was beautiful tonight, a fat crescent shape lost amongst the darkness. It's pale light not so much eerie as it was peaceful instead, and I closed my eyes momentarily, soaking it up. When I opened them, I found Connor watching me, his eyes carefully studying my face just as they studied everything else.

"Would you say you are brave, Amelia?"

I was caught off guard by the question, and I thought about it as we walked a little ways more, and then I stopped, looking up at him.

"No, I don't think I am."

He looked at me carefully, his face shadowed against the sky, his back to the moon. "When I was a little girl, there was a huge boulder that sat beyond our property, next to a large ravine. It spilt the forest for at least four miles in either direction, and the boulder was the fastest way to try and cross. If you jumped from the rock, it was at least a ten foot drop to the bottom, and as a girl, I was always too scared to jump. My brothers would jump, and if they missed the ledge on the other side, they would tumble as they rolled to the bottom, and then continue into the woods, never once seeming to be injured. I would lose them if I tried to find a different way down to the other side, since it was so steep no matter where you went, and for so long I was terrified to try it." I bent down and picked up some snow, playing with it in my hands. "One day, without any prompting or encouragement from my brothers..in fact, they weren't even with me that day, I sprinted to the edge of the rock, and jumped."

I paused, waiting, thinking carefully about my words.

"The point is, Connor, that I didn't jump because my brothers told me I could or couldn't do it, or because I needed to get to the other side of the forest." I looked up at him, smiling. "I jumped because I knew that if I didn't, I wouldn't ever know if I could."

I smiled at the little snowball I had made, remembering, and then gently crushed it with my finger, not looking up at him.

"I remember that fall so clearly, even now. I fell for what seemed like forever, but then finally I hit the ground." I laughed a little. "I broke my arm that day, and I was by myself, a good three miles from my home, and so I walked back, tears streaming down my face from the pain, but I was smiling nonetheless, because I knew in the moment, although I was terrified the entire time I fell, I had jumped."

We continued walking again, and I explained further, listening to my own words. It was a strange sensation to really analyze oneself, but Connor's question had my mind turning, and I was being honest. Everything I said came from what I believed to be true from myself. Ever since I was a girl, people had either called me brave, or stupid, but to really define yourself with that word was another story. The truth was, I was terrified of almost everything, but I found courage to prove to myself that I could what was needed of me. If I couldn't believe in myself, then who could I rely on?

I could see my wagon at the end of a long train of tents. Tabitha was nowhere to be seen, but a dull light glowed from the edges of the darkness, and I assumed she was there already warming herself before bed. I had finished my explanation of courage with Connor a while ago, but neither of us felt the need to say anything. Eventually, we stopped, not near the wagon for a more relaxed goodbye, away from possible prying eyes, but close enough not to raise suspicion. I turned towards him and gave him a kind smile; my checks now red from the walk through the cold instead of my own embarrassment.

"Thank you, Connor, I think I'll be alright on my own now."

Connor tipped the corner of his mouth into a playful, crooked smile that made my stomach seem to turn in knots. "You believe so? From what I know of you, Amelia, you would find some way to invite danger here."

I laughed, looking at the ground. "I swear, I do it unintentionally."

I looked back up at him and his crooked grin was still there, his dark eyes watching me in a way that was much less critical as it was curious, almost playful. I could feel myself blushing and I stuck my hand out infront of me, the image of our first meeting playing through my head.

"Thank you, my dear friend Connor for the escort home."

He took it, shaking it lightly.

"You are very welcome, my friend Amelia."

We stood there for a moment, not sure of what to do next, and he bowed slightly and turned to go, his steps silent in the snow. I stood still, wondering if I was truly brave enough to say what I wanted.

"Connor?"

He paused, his hands on his hood, and he turned his face back to me. I walked forward a little to meet him where he stood, and I started to play with my hair, trying hard to hide my nerves.

"Connor, I was wondering, if I could write to you, but in order to do so, I...I need to know your last name."

He was sielnt a moment, thinking, his face serious as he considered what to say, and then very softly he said, "Kenway. I would assume my last name would be Kenway..."

I let go of the breath I was holding, relieved.

"But I must ask you not to write." He continued, and instantly my stomach dropped. "I am rarely at the Davenport homestead, my buissness calling me to different parts of this young country, and I must tell you that I do not have time for such...activities."

I blushed, embarssed, my heart feeling as if a been dropped into the frigid waters of the ocean, and I nodded, putting on my rehearsed smile for when I've been insulted or hurt.

"Oh, yes, of course."

I turned to go, taking a few steps forward.

"Amelia."

I puased, turning. Connor came forward, standing a little closer than before and I had to tilt my head just enough to meet his gaze.

"I appreciate the offer, truthfully, but I cannot make such a promise to a friend who I truly respect. As it is, I rarely see my friends and those I care for in my own village. How than can I make a promise to you?"

I understood, but it didn't dull the sting, which was incredibly annoying. I was bothered that he had such and effect on me. Connor bowed again, his face shadowed by his hood, and then he turned to go.

"I hope to see you again, Amelia Brightmore, my friend."

I nodded, and lightly waved a goodbye as he walked back towards the encampment. I went back to my wagon in silence, Tabitha already asleep, a small fire the only light for my welcome. I sat there for a moment, confused by my conflicting feelings. I was incredibly giddy, excited, and hopefull of the way Connor looked at me and called me friend, but I was also extremly terrified, confused, and unsure of just what kind of 'buisness' Connor did, and that alone was enough to make me wonder if these other feelings were worth it. I shook my head, running a hand trhough my tangled, cold hair, and wondered if my bravery had finaly caused me enough ruin to stop believing. His denial of my letters, of a possible correspondence, was almost as embarrassing as it was humiliating...

I got up, irritated that this was dominating so much of my thoughts, and removed my coat, gloves, scarf, and boots, and then crawled into the wagon next to Tabitha, ready to put this strange awkward and exilerating day behind me. It wasn't until I was almost asleep that a sudden new thought came to mind.

I had never told Connor my last name.


End file.
